


You've got me, baby, are you mine?

by Sunnyrea



Series: Please, Please, Please [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, M/M, Original Character(s), Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 85,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's return from the dead brings Greg and Mycroft back together after more than a year without seeing each other. Will the reunion be for better or worse, can they forgive and maybe start over?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restart

**Author's Note:**

> And part 3 arrives. I am going to warn you all now, this one may take me a bit longer what with series 3 difficulties and things in my own life but it will come. So keep reading! Thank you to those who have made it this far.
> 
> The title is from an Arctic Monkey song: [R U Mine?](http://youtu.be/ngzC_8zqInk)
> 
> I would also like to thank Caz, [NumberThirteen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberThirteen), for a retroactive Britt pick on this story! It was so lovely of you to jump in even after this has been up a while and help me make it even better!
> 
> EDIT: So I actually cast our main family Lestrade ages ago and never showed you guys. Why? No idea but now I am! (In case you are interested) and now I've also cast the yard: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the) and [Greg's Significant Others](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/93887095862/sherlock-please-please-please-casting).

Greg stands in the doorway to Mycroft’s new office. The walls are gray and dark with lights just above eye height like the kind one sees in hotel hallways. Greg notices a fan on top of the same sort of gray filing cabinet he has in his office in the corner. Another ridiculous old nobility portrait hangs on the wall near the cabinet directly behind where Mycroft sits at his desk. The desk certainly has a more modern style compared to Mycroft’s last desk and appears even sparser. However, the last office at least had windows.

“So your office is underground now?” Greg says.

Mycroft jerks his head up suddenly from his laptop. His mouth does not drop open in any codfish surprised fashion but his jaw clenches and his eyes widen enough for Greg to know. Possibly Mycroft has been too preoccupied to anticipate Greg.

Greg glances around and points at the bare walls. “Bit more 007 going on now?” He looks back at Mycroft. “Suppose that would make you M, would it?”

Mycroft breathes in through his nose and pulls his fingers off the keys of his laptop. “I take it Sherlock has seen you?”

Greg takes two steps in, watching his feet as he walks, and nods. “Couple hours ago.” He looks up again, stepping in further. “Tried to give me shite for smoking.”

One corner of Mycroft’s lips quirks up. “Charming.”

“Especially for a dead man.”

“And now here you are.”

Greg clicks his tongue. “Did you really expect me not to come?”

Mycroft only tilts his head as a response. For a moment neither of them moves, simply watching each other in silence across the empty air of Mycroft's nondescript office.

"Your hair,” Mycroft says breaking the stillness, as he leans back in his chair.

Greg frowns. "Still got it, yeah."

"You cut it."

"That happens sometimes."

"It's... different."

Greg laughs. "Yeah, I knew you wouldn't like it."

Mycroft scoffs. "I do hope that is not why you cut it."

Greg has a very strong moment of deja vu. He blinks a few times then tilts his head. “We really going to talk about my hair?”

“You are the one who came to my office.”

“Well, you see, your brother is back from the dead after more than two years and, unless his way of doing it was really that good, you’ve known he was alive all this time.”

Mycroft pulls his arms back, threads his fingers together in front of his chest and breathes in deeply. “It was, in fact, my idea.”

Greg huffs softly. “Of course it was.”

“Have you come to ask why we did it; why Sherlock faked his death?”

Greg shakes his head. “No doubt all something to do with your Jim Moriarty; can tell that. The specifics don’t really matter.”

Mycroft frowns. “They most certainly do.”

Greg tilts his head again and gives Mycroft a look. “Not really.”

“What is it then, a need to soothe your emotions? Are you hurt and angry? Do you want me to apologize?”

“You sound more upset than me right now.”

Mycroft huffs and drops his hands to the arms of his chair. “Just answer the question.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You?” Mycroft makes a derisive noise. “The champion of shouting?”

Greg crosses his arms. “Are you _trying_ to make me angry?”

“Should you not be angry? I lied to you about a very serious event, life and death in fact. Is this not something which would cause most people extreme emotional reactions, especially when it comes from a romantic partner?”

"You've always put your brother first, Mycroft, why should've I thought that didn't cover me as well?"

Mycroft frowns. “Are you trying your hand at logical reactions now?”

“Look, I haven’t seen you in more than a year, Mycroft. Maybe once I would have hoped you would trust me with something like that but you didn’t and you certainly taught me not to expect any more from you after we split up.” He shrugs. “Guess you proved to me you are just like Sherlock.”

Mycroft frowns even more. “Just like Sherlock?”

“You don’t care who you hurt.” 

Mycroft’s jaw clenches again and he glares at Greg. “Did you come to give me examples of your capability for casual cruelty –”

Greg sighs. “It’s the truth.”

“Or is this some backward attempt to regain my affections now that you view the perceived emotional loss of my brother as removed?”

Greg breathes in slowly and swallows once before speaking again. “Did I really lose your affections?”

Mycroft looks away and speaks softly, “why are you here, Greg?”

Greg steps closer and touches the edge of Mycroft’s desk. Mycroft looks at him and Greg sees some of that staunch righteousness ebb away. They stand for a moment just staring at each other again over the space of the desk between them. Greg breathes in and out and anchors his hand on the desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks quietly.

“I thought you said you were not angry?” Mycroft replies, voice just as low.

Greg shakes his head. “Do I sound angry?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why.”

“No, not me as a police officer, not me of the Met, or even me as Sherlock's friend; I mean me as in me and you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mycroft looks away. “How could I have done that?” 

“You’re the smart one,” Greg says.

Mycroft looks back. “There was never a choice. Sherlock Holmes needed to be dead for everyone.”

“Except everyone who knew.”

“And you did not need to be one of them.”

“It was you I really cared about, Mycroft. You I was worried for.” Greg pulls his hand off the desk. “But looks like all that was for nothing after all.”

Mycroft stares at the wall beside them. “I did what I had to.”

Greg opens his mouth then shuts it again with a shake of his head. He slides his hands into his pockets, eyes on the floor and two years ago. Then he looks up at Mycroft, Mycroft still watching him. Greg nods. “Right. You did.”

“Greg…” Mycroft licks his lip once then breathes in. “I did not intend for what happened.”

“Just months of concern you decided not to notice?”

Mycroft’s face falls. “I did not say that.”

Greg sighs and he smiles a little. “Doesn’t matter, been two years anyway now, right? Nothing to be upset over any more.” 

“I knew how much you cared,” Mycroft insists quietly.

Greg smiles then backs up a few steps. “Just wanted to say, glad to see your brother is back and I suspect you’ve got a bit less to worry about now.”

“Or more,” Mycroft comments dryly.

Greg chuckles. “Yeah, right.” Greg clears his throat. “Well.” Then he turns and walks toward Mycroft’s office door.

“Greg…”

Greg looks back at Mycroft from the door. He thinks Mycroft looks just as beautiful as the last time he said goodbye. Greg breathes in quickly then smiles again. “Good to see you, Mycroft.” Then he walks out.

\---------

“Right!” Greg knocks the files in his hand on the conference room table twice to gain the attention of the room, the entire division filling the space as well as a few PCs Greg recognizes from intake. He waits a few seconds until people stop chattering then drops his files on the table. He puts his hands on his hips and breathes in deeply. “So, I suspect most of you know by now or at least suspect what I’m going to tell you.”

A murmur shifts across the room and Donovan mutters, “unbelievable,” under her breath. Greg sees Clipton and Bell shoot a look at each other across the table while Gupta puts a hand over her mouth to mask her wide smile. Matthews in the corner appears to be one of the few frowning with confusion.

“As of three days ago we have learned Sherlock Holmes is alive.” 

The murmur grows into actual comments, a few people who must not have heard the rumor gasping in surprise. Clipton breathes out audibly while Brooks groans and shakes her head.

Banks whacks Bradford – who winces and frowns – hard in the shoulder with a hiss of, “I bloody told you!”

“Unbelievable,” Donovan says again and crosses her arms.

“All right, all right,” Greg says, waving a hand in a ‘silence’ motion through the air. “It is not just a rumor; I have seen him myself. He’s quite alive.” 

“Alive,” Avery echoes quietly.

“You might have also heard about the bomb scare under parliament, some of you were involved, I know. Sherlock was instrumental in that discovery and a safe resolution of that situation. I know there were many opinions on him, good and bad, but we can’t deny either way he’s good.”

A few people scoff while others mutter ‘yes.’

Greg clears his throat. “The news should hit the press later today, so be warned. Any calls about him send straight to me, no other comments. Clear?”

The room responds with ‘yes, sir’ and ‘clear.’ Donovan sighs and nods her head at him.

“Right. That’s the long and short. He faked his death, gone for two some years, now he’s back. Any questions?”

About fifteen hands shoot up into the air. Greg frowns. “Yes, we might consult with him again but also, yes, we are going to clear him through channels if we do.”

Half of the hands go down.

Greg frowns. “If you want to ask me how he did it, I don’t know.”

All but one of the hands go down and most of the room groans with disappointment.

Greg shrugs. “Sure he’d tell you all about it in detail if you want to know. Probably end up telling it all to the press anyhow.”

Gupta snorts loudly and a line of PCs leaning against the glass laugh. Greg looks over at Brooks still holding up her hand and leaning back in her chair.

“Brooks?”

She drops her arm. “With Sherlock back this doesn’t mean we have to worry about Jim Moriarty, does it?”

All heads in the room tick to Brooks then turn back to Greg. Greg shakes his head. “No. Moriarty well and shot himself. Think we only get one resurrection at a time around here.”

Brooks smiles and a few people laugh. Greg claps his hands together. “Right, dismissed.”

Everyone stands up from their chairs and slip out the doors, while Greg picks up his pile of papers glad that the announcement did not bring up more ancient history than necessary. Greg waits until almost everyone is gone before he heads out of the conference room toward his office. 

Donovan falls into step bedside him as soon as he clears the doors. “So you saw him?”

He glances at her. “Yep.”

“In the flesh, coat and all?”

“Actually yeah.” She scoffs. “What did you expect, Donovan?”

“Maybe an apology.”

“From Sherlock?”

“He faked his death! Does he know the people he hurt?”

“I’m sure he does know –”

“Really?” She cocks her head as they walk. “You think he does? Did he apologize to you?”

Greg opens his mouth but stops himself right before he says, ‘neither of them did.’ He stops walking and turns to face her. “Look, Sherlock is always going to be the way he is. May have been two years but you know he can logic out all the reasons why he did what he did.”

“But how can he not think about the repercussions? I mean look at Anderson!”

Greg frowns. “Sally, why not just take what we can, all right? Be glad he didn’t really kill himself on account of what we did.”

Sally sighs and grits her teeth. Greg turns away and walks down the hall to his office. He shuts the door behind him and puts his files on his desk. He picks up his phone and dials quickly. It takes three rings but finally he hears the line connect.

“Um, yes?”

“Anderson, it’s Greg, looks like I owe you a big apology.”

There is a long pause then Anderson begins to laugh, high and shrill and manic and Greg has to pull the receiver away from his ear at the sound.

\---------

The moment Greg sits down at the table Claire latches onto his arm with both hands and David begins laughing into his pint glass.

“Are you kidding me?” Claire gasps.

“She hasn’t stopped since we got here,” David says.

“I mean, really!” Claire squeezes Greg’s arm. “Faked his death? What is that? Who does that? I don’t even understand how it’s possible in real life!”

“Is this real life?” Greg asks.

“Is this just fantasy?” David quips.

Claire shoots a glare at David then looks back at Greg. “So you’ve seen him, right? I mean you must have? I almost called you when I saw the news and he was wearing that dumb hat again.”

Greg purses his lips. “I suspect Sherlock wears it ironically now.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Because that’s the point.”

Greg shrugs. “Doubt I really know any more than you saw on the telly, Claire.”

Claire groans. “Please.” She lets go of his arm and leans back against the booth. “Did he see you before he went to all those reporters?”

“Well, yeah, he –“

“See!”

David snorts.

Greg smiles. “Snuck up on me in the parking garage when I was having a smoke.”

David frowns. “You’re still at those? She’s stopped.” Claire clears her throat and picks up her glass of water. David’s eyebrows shoot up “What is that missy?”

“Didn’t he say anything to you?” Claire asks Greg, ignoring David. “Did he tell you why?”

“Or how?” David adds as he picks up a chip from his plate.

“Did you guys not order me any food or drink?” Greg asks with a nod toward David’s plate. “And, no, Claire, he didn’t. Just called me Graham and told me I’d been ‘letting things slide.’”

“Graham?” David and Claire say.

“He can never remember my name.”

David frowns. “Because Graham is much easier than Greg.”

“How can he forget your name?” Claire frowns to match David and puts down her glass. “He’s known you for years.”

“He didn’t actually learn my first name until about three years ago.”

“What?” David and Claire say with matching tones of disbelief.

Greg chuckles and picks up David’s beer, taking a drink. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes your life baffles me, Greg,” Claire says.

“Oh, I look forward to every thrilling tale,” David says as he takes his beer back from Greg. “Criminal cases, office flirtation –“

“That was one time –“

“On the job injury.”

“Which you should stop,” Claire amends as she stabs her fork into a piece of fish.

“Not to mention, faked deaths and secret government agent wooing.”

Greg purses his lips. “And break up.”

Claire elbows David in the side with no attempt at subtlety. He nearly spills some of his beer then glares at the side of her head. She does not acknowledge his look. David puts his beer down primly then turns back to Greg. “So, have you seen him?”

“Sherlock?”

David smiles slowly. “You know who I mean.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “Come off it, David, I haven’t seen him in more than a year.”

“So, yes, you did?”

“Did he know?” Claire asks suddenly.

Greg clears his throat and peers to the side to see how busy the bar is.

“Fuck,” David says at the same time Claire says, “Oh wow…”

Greg looks back at them. “Yes, I saw him. Yes, he knew. Anything else?”

“Anything else?” David gasps.

Claire drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “Bloody hell!”

“Oi, both of you, relax.”

“Relax!” Claire snaps. She turns her head to David. “He says relax.”

“Greg, Mycroft let you believe Sherlock was dead all that time. He let you break your heart over him and what you thought he must have been going through. He let you think your friend was dead, his brother!” David leans forward over the table, props up his elbow and points at Greg. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Look, he did what he had to.”

“Did he say that?” Claire asks with a deep frown.

“But aren’t you a bit angry?” David insists.

“All right, you both remember we’re not together anymore, right?” Greg flings out both hands and waves them over the table. “Haven’t been for a long time now.”

“But you haven’t been with anyone else either,” David says tapping the table with one finger.

“What does that mean?”

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Claire asks as well.

David chews the edge of his lip and sighs. “Greg, you know I like Mycroft.”

“Don’t see why,” Claire mutters.

“He made Greg happy,” David says to Claire while still looking at Greg.

“Yes, until he didn’t.”

“But!” David continues with emphasis on the word to override Claire. “As I was saying, but, don’t you think you deserve a better answer than ‘because’ or at least an apology from him?”

“I imagine that’s very likely,” Claire mutters.

“When did you become the fiery militant one?” David says finally turning to look at Claire.

She huffs. “When Greg’s ex kept his _alive_ brother a secret and caused _our_ brother unnecessary emotional damage.”

Greg sighs. “Why do you two need to be so interested in this?” David and Claire both turn to him. Greg raises his eyebrows and takes David’s beer again. “Sherlock is back. I saw Mycroft just to see him and that’s it, done, nothing more.”

David crosses his arms. “Uh huh.”

Greg takes a sip of David’s beer. “Nothing more.” He puts the beer down and slides it back toward David. “Now can we try and get me my own food and beer?”

\---------

Greg flips through the case file on his desk. The thickness of the file already has a headache growing behind Greg’s eyes. The transcription pages of the initial altercation at the scene include so many expletives of creative variety that Greg will need to google a few of them. He closes that case and slides it to the side of his desk. He will deal with that one later. 

At the moment Greg has to write and send an official complaint, more like report really, to his superintendent about some of the officers from city police. Fortunately they do not often have disputes with the city police as the lines are clear cut but every now and then there is the drop down, drag out fight of ‘yours or mine.’ Greg understands, he does; the city police territory is small and they want to protect what turf they have. However, Greg and his division usually take point when a murder is involved so city police can get bent. To be fair, however, Gupta did tackle one of their men and get in at least two good punches before Avery and Clipton pulled her off; all the more reason Greg needs to get their side down in writing first so he can avoid suspending Gupta and give her a warning instead.

“Sir?”

Greg looks up to see Avery at his door. “Got your account done?”

Avery nods. “E-mailed you and have a hard copy.” He holds up it up.

Greg reaches a hand out over his desk for the papers. “Perfect.”

Avery walks in and hands the two pieces of paper to Greg. Greg takes them and puts them on top of the case file which caused the whole territory dispute in the first place. Avery clears his throat and Greg looks up at him again.

“I left out the bit where you called their sergeant a wanker.”

Greg smirks. “Guess you didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Greg chuckles and Avery smiles. Avery nods then turns around and walks out of Greg’s office again. Not a minute after Avery disappears and Greg types one sentence about priority jurisdiction, Banks knocks on Greg’s open door.

Greg’s eyes tick up as he keeps typing. “Yeah?”

“Phone call about Sherlock.”

Greg frowns. “Which ‘about?’”

Banks shrugs. “If we have any comments on his fake suicide and if he will continue to consult with our department.”

Greg sighs and rubs his face with one hand. “Newspaper or television?”

“The Star.”

“Great, transfer them to me.”

“What are you going to tell them, sir?” Banks asks.

Greg frowns. “What am I going to tell them?”

“Will Sherlock still be consulting with us?” Banks smiles in a ‘please tell me’ way.

“To be determined.”

Banks pouts for one second then nods. “Yes, sir.” Then he pulls back out of Greg’s door again.

Greg chuckles quietly and shakes his head. A few seconds later Greg’s desk phone begins to ring. Greg picks it up on the second ring, better to get it over with.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, yes?”

Fifteen minutes later, Greg hangs up the phone having kept to the ‘party line’ stance on Sherlock’s actions, future activity and did not use one swear word. Hopefully there is no creative way of reordering his sentences in print to make him sound like an idiot, fingers crossed.

“Sir?”

Greg looks up to see PC Cooper in his door way. He cocks his head. “Ah ha, welcome back.”

She smiles and brushes her bangs to the side. “Thank you sir, quite glad to be.”

“Did Somerset treat you well?”

She groans. “I suppose it depends what you mean by ‘well.’” Greg raises his eyebrows but she just shakes her head and waves a hand. “Never mind. Let’s just say that nothing really compares to London policing and four years is long enough to be away.”

Greg nods. “I’ll agree to that.”

“So…” She bites her lip. “Hear Sherlock’s back.”

Greg snorts. “You missed his ‘leaving.’”

She smiles. “Well, I did read the papers. Is he going to be back here too?” She points to the floor.

Greg sighs. “Everyone is asking that today.”

“Just today?”

Brooks suddenly appears beside Cooper. She grips Cooper’s shoulder and shakes once. “Yes, yes, you have to answer Lisa. She’s the sweet one we’ve been missing all this time. Give us a yes or no.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “I called him on the one case already.”

Brooks scoffs loudly. “Come on, because that farce counts!”

“What was it?” Cooper asks Brooks over her shoulder.

Brooks rolls her eyes. “Anderson being a twat.”

Cooper suppresses a laugh and nods. “Oh right then.”

“Would you both get back to work?” Greg says, crossing his arms. “Better things to do that dwell on Sherlock, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brooks says, “done that plenty.”

“Welcome back, Cooper,” Greg says again. “Now use that charm of yours to interrogate a witness or two. I’m sure we have some saved for you.”

At that Cooper laughs and nods. “Of course, sir.”

Greg twirls his pen around between his fingers twice then sits up straight and shifts back to his laptop.

“Sir, are we –“

Greg holds up his hand and looks at Clipton in his doorway. “Better not be asking about Sherlock.”

“Uh…” Clipton tilts his head. “Not now?”

Greg narrows his eyes. “Go write your report about the city police.”

Clipton frowns. “Should have let Parni get in a few more hits.”

Greg forces down a smile. “Go.”

Obviously this day is turning into a ‘bother my superior’ sort of day. 

Greg spends the next half hour writing out a detailed account of the confrontation with city police. He takes as much blame as he can and suspects the superintendent will let all of them off with warnings, Greg’s warning probably a bit sterner than his PC’s what with rank and all. One minute after Greg attaches the statements from Clipton, Avery and Gupta to his own report and presses ‘send’ on his e-mail, Greg’s mobile buzzes with a call. Greg glances at the mobile on the side of his desk and sees ‘Mycroft’ on the ID.

Greg picks it up, stares at the name for another buzz then clicks answer. “Hello?”

“Greg.”

“Mycroft...”

There is a long pause so that Greg almost thinks the call was dropped then Mycroft breathes in so Greg hears it. “I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”

Greg blinks and stares straight ahead at the blinds of his office. “You wanted to what?”

“After our meeting the other day I felt you deserved a further explanation regarding my actions and behavior with Sherlock’s… temporary demise.”

“Mycroft, you don’t need to –“

“I want to.”

Greg chews the edge of his lip. “So you want to have dinner?”

“You made the point that you cared…” Mycroft clears his throat. “Cared about me and, well, such a person has been rare in my life and perhaps you do deserve more.”

Greg blows a slow breath out. “All right.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Just tell me when.”

He hears Mycroft makes a soft, pleased noise. “I will send you time and place.” Then the line cuts off.

Greg pulls his mobile away from his ear and stares at the face. He drops his hand down and places the mobile on his desk. He grips the arms of his chair and drums his fingers.

Greg breathes in and out. “Right...”

\---------

Greg sits at a table in the back of the restaurant Mycroft chose. The decor is sparse, cream colored walls veering close to yellow with red upholstery on the seating, and the lighting somewhat dim. It certainly seems like the place for serious conversations or illicit trysts. Mycroft is ten minutes late which for Mycroft is more like twenty. Greg’s mobile sits on the table but has not buzzed since Greg sat down eleven minutes ago. He gave up and ordered a beer four minutes ago which arrived only a minute after. Two minutes ago he began to worry about his new propensity for keeping track of minutes passing.

“Apologies.”

Greg looks up with a start to see Mycroft standing beside the table. He swallows and touches his beer absently. “You’re late.”

Mycroft smiles in his thin, professional way. “It could not be helped.”

He sits down across from Greg, eyes ticking to the beer in Greg’s hand then back to Greg’s face. Greg picks up the beer and takes a sip. Even though he saw Mycroft a few weeks ago, Greg still feels unnerved to physically see Mycroft in front of him after more than a year’s absence.

“So.” Greg puts his beer down again and sits back in his chair. “You wanted to explain?”

Mycroft huffs quietly. “We have not even ordered yet.”

“The eating’s not really the point.”

Their waiter stops by before Mycroft can counter and puts a glass of white wine in front of Mycroft. The waiter smiles and opens his mouth to talk but Greg waves his hand, no, for him to come back. Mycroft raises his eyebrows but does not try to stop the waiter as he leaves.

Greg points at the glass. “It’s Chenin blanc. Hope that’ll do.”

Mycroft picks it up and takes a sip. He clicks his teeth then puts the glass back down. “Sufficient.”

“Okay.”

“You look well,” Mycroft says quietly.

Greg shrugs. “I’m the same.”

Mycroft smiles. “Of course.”

“You did just see me a few weeks ago.”

“I recall.”

“Well then.” Greg taps the table with one finger. “Here we are.”

“Yes.”

Greg sighs. “Mycroft, don’t dance around the –“

“You have to understand, Greg,” Mycroft interrupts. “You were never part of the plan.”

Greg stares at Mycroft for two beats. “What?”

“The plan I had for Sherlock and I – for a great number of people involved – in terms of solving the Moriarty problem was very long in the making. From practically the onset of Sherlock’s interactions with that man and his network of criminals we were planning a way to destroy the entire organization.” He twists his wine glass by the stem. “It was not an overnight decision nor a simple one.” He clears his throat and glances at Greg. Greg keeps his gaze without comment. 

Mycroft purses his lips, takes a sip of his wine, then continues. “Sherlock and I both foresaw the outcome between the two of them would likely result in a life or death situation, thus we needed a way out when that eventuality came to pass, where ever and whenever it might be. We needed an ultimate plan, several in fact.”

“So you had Sherlock fake his death instead of actually dying?”

“There is nothing on this earth which can stop me when it comes to preserving the life of my brother,” Mycroft says, voice cold with the commanding tone Greg knows must send fear into the hearts of any subordinate or foreign leader.

Greg raises his eyebrows. “So?”

“You were not a factor in these plans.”

Greg scoffs. “Real surprise.”

“My point,” Mycroft insists, “is that I did not foresee the effect you would have.”

“On what?”

“On me.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. "My effect on you?"

"Yes."

Greg presses his lips together, glances down at the table then looks up again. “And?”

“I believe I have made my point. You were an unforeseen factor.”

Greg blinks and stares at Mycroft. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What more would you –“

“Oh right, sorry, Mycroft, but the whole part I’d like to know a bit more about was everything after. Think I’ve noticed Sherlock is alive and you had something to do with everything leading up to that but, you’re right, that didn’t concern me all that much.”

“Yes, and I believe you recall perfectly well the time after when Sherlock was presumed dead. You were in fact there.”

“Oh, I was, and maybe what I want to know, Mycroft is why.”

“Why we needed to dismantle an international crime network or why I did not deign to let you in on the truth?”

Greg huffs harshly. “You are kidding. Mycroft, do you really not know anything about people at all?”

“I know far too much about people. Why do you think I avoid them?”

“Then I guess that makes me a big wrench in your whole works doesn’t it?” Greg snaps.

Mycroft breathes in sharply and his hand clenches around his wine glass. He picks up the glass and takes a slow sip of the wine. Greg has the urge to chug his entire glass of beer. 

Mycroft puts the glass down again and sighs. “I was the one who put you into ‘the works’ in the first place.” He looks up at Greg. “Wasn’t I?”

Greg feels tension in his shoulders ease somewhat and he rubs a circle with his hand on the table. “I wanted to be there, Mycroft, that’s why I cared.”

Mycroft nods. “And I did not foresee... I did not know…” Mycroft trails off and picks up his wine glass again.

Greg frowns. “Are you trying to tell me that you thought I wouldn’t care? You didn’t ever tell me the truth because in your plan you didn’t expect me to care about how you would feel when your brother died?”

Mycroft puts his glass down without drinking any of the wine. He says nothing, looks somewhere over Greg’s shoulder for a moment before he turns his eyes back to Greg. Every line on his face says, ‘yes.’

Greg nods. “Right...”

“I imagine, knowing you, that any explanations I may have for you will feel insufficient.”

“You always had trouble with the truth.”

“There comes a point when it is too late for the truth.”

Greg shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

Mycroft shrugs. “It appears that way now.”

Greg picks up his beer and leans back in his chair. “We can’t change the past, what either of us said or did.” Greg drinks some of his beer. “Doubt you or I’d do much different if we went through it all again.”

Mycroft clicks his tongue. “Likely not.”

“But, well.” Greg sits up again. “Glad you wanted to set it all straight.”

Mycroft frowns. “Is that what I’ve done now?”

Greg shrugs. “About as much as you can.”

“I see.”

“Right.” Greg takes another big drink of his beer then puts his glass down and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulls out a few pounds and puts them on the table. “I should go.”

Mycroft sits up taller and leans forward slightly. “Without having dinner?”

“I don’t think we need to have dinner.” He closes his wallet and raises his eyebrows. “Unless you have more explanations and excuses you want to try.”

Mycroft gives Greg a withering look. “Wanted to get in one last dig before you buried the hatchet, did you?”

“There’s no hatchet, Mycroft, never was. Break ups aren’t usually clean and they often have ripples.” Greg waves a hand over the table between them. “Like now.”

“I cannot decide whether I appreciate your metaphor or not.”

“I think I got the habit from you.”

“I do hope not.”

“Well.” Greg stands up then pushes his chair in up to the table again. “Good seeing you.”

Greg walks around the table but Mycroft grasps his hand as he passes. “Greg.” Greg looks down at Mycroft. “Perhaps we might have coffee another time then?”

“Coffee?”

“You do still drink it?”

“Yes, of course I –“

“Then perhaps we could both drink the beverage together.”

“I…” Greg breathes in and looks down at their hands still together.

“It would only be coffee,” Mycroft says quietly.

Greg looks up at Mycroft again, a look on Mycroft’s face Greg always has trouble identifying: uncertainty. “All right.”

Mycroft lets go of Greg’s hand. “Good night, Greg.”

Greg walks away from the table and out through the restaurant. On the street, Greg stands close to the kerb and watches the cars pass by. His hand tingles like he just burnt himself.

Greg breathes in slowly. “Shite.”

\---------

“All right, where are we on the Smith murder?”

“Person or profession?” Clipton quips.

“Weren’t you there, Ted?” Bell says with sarcasm. “It was Mr. Smith with the anvil in the blacksmith shop.”

“I never liked Cluedo.”

Bell snorts. “Who said anything about Cluedo?”

“Maybe it was a Smith and Wesson,” Gupta says, flashing a grin at Clipton and Bell sitting across the table from her.

“Or Smith street,” says Avery.

“Oi, you done?” Matthews chastises and points at Greg. “It’s a murder!” He huffs and taps the case file in his hand. “We have all the witness statements and four sets of finger prints, two brought back known offenders.”

Greg bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling then nods at Matthews. “Thank you, Matthews. Take Avery and follow up on the whereabouts of both the night in question.”

“Yes, sir,” Matthews and Avery say at once.

“Right.” Greg turns over the sheet in his hand then looks up, scanning the room for Brooks. “How’s it going with the solicitors and the MP assault from last month?”

Brooks breathes out audibly and shakes her head. “Like a house on fire except you’re still inside.”

Gupta frowns. “Isn’t that metaphor usually supposed to be positive?”

“Not this time.”

“Need more help?” Greg asks.

Brooks grimaces. “Well… I’ve got the documentation but they’re asking about…” She sighs and scratches her head. “Maybe?”

Greg glances around the room. “Anyone got a few hours to spare?” At first no one moves then Cooper raises her hand. Greg nods. “Thank you, Cooper.”

“Missed you, Lisa!” Brooks hisses and grins at her.

Cooper flashes a double thumbs up back at her.

“All right, all right.” Greg waves a hand. “I believe the rest of you have cases. Donovan?”

She nods. “Moving along.”

He points at Banks. “You’re on CCTV review for Donovan, yes?”

“Four hours done so far.”

“Perfect.” Greg claps his hands around the meeting agenda paper. “Anything else?”

Bell raises her hand. “Are you coming to the New Year’s party?”

“Yes!” Clipton raises his hand too and knocks it against Bell’s. “Excellent question!”

“Oh yes!” Gupta grins. “You know that Banks offered to decorate.”

“I did?”

“Mari is going to wear a dress,” Clipton says, bumping his shoulder against Bell’s.

“I am?”

Clipton grins in a pleading way. “Please?”

Greg sighs. “Well…”

Avery claps his hands together quietly. “’Well’ followed by ‘yes?’”

“Just insert something about staff morale and setting a good example!” Cooper says.

“I don’t think this is what he meant by ‘anything else,’” Matthews mutters.

“Shut up, Manchester,” Bradford snaps.

“Oi!”

“All right!” Greg says over them all. “I’ll give you a tentative ‘yes.’ Feel better?”

“Yes!” Most of the room choruses while Matthews rolls his eyes.

“Good, now back to work kids,” Greg says with emphasis on ‘kids.’

“Thanks, dad!” Gupta says as everyone files out of the conference room.

Greg purses his lips but decides not to reassign Gupta to assist the intake desk sergeant on the night shift. Greg shuts off the lights then walks down the hall back to his office. He has some staff reviews to write and he is strongly considering just writing ‘Good.’ on every single one. Greg walks into his office then around his desk, crumpling the agenda into a ball and tossing it toward his rubbish bin. He misses. 

When Greg sits down he finally sees the can of fine coffee with a pale blue card sitting in front of it. 

Greg’s mouth gapes and about six memories flash through his head at once. Greg props his elbows on his desk and threads his fingers together. He breathes out slowly and presses his thumbs against his lips. He shakes his head slightly as he stares at the can and card.

“You can’t be serious…” he whispers.

Greg growls back in his throat, drops his hands and picks up the envelope. He opens the flap at the back and pulls out the matching card, MH embossed on the front. He opens the card and inside it says:

_Thank you for our dinner the other evening though perhaps in the future we could eat as well._

_-Mycroft_

Greg closes the card and stuffs it back in the envelope. He looks at the coffee, feels a smile trying to form, and sighs. “Damn it, Mycroft.”

\---------

The New Year’s party for the Homicide and Serious Crime division of the Met is fortunately lacking in any dead bodies or major crimes of note. Someone did make a 'chalk' outline with masking tape around their coffee pot and caution tape features in some of the decorations. The conference room has been changed into the party room with the tables pushed back against one wall, two focusing on food with a third full to the edge with drinks. Greg wonders absently as he drinks a beer if university parties look anything like this now or would they just be substantially messier?

Most of the division opted to attend the party, a few PC’s of newer status offering to be the sober ones in case some call should come through. Greg knows they will be rewarded later for their sacrifice. Music plays from someone’s ipod on a docking station. Greg suspects Bell or Brooks, probably Brooks what with the jazz theme. Avery and Cooper are seated in one corner having a heating argument over what is probably football while Matthews keeps darting around people to avoid Sergeant Parker and PC Davis who want to debate the merits of Manchester versus London policing. Clipton and Bell stand alone together near the exterior wall looking out the window. Greg smiles at the pair.

“Detective Inspector!”

Greg turns to Brooks suddenly beside him. “Sergeant?”

“So,” Donovan taps Greg’s shoulder on his other side, “you came?”

“Said I would.”

“No,” Bradford says and he walks over from Donovan’s other side, “you said ‘tentative yes.’”

“Which is not the same thing,” Gupta finishes as she comes around in front of him.

Greg frowns. “Are you ambushing me?”

They all start laughing, exclamations of ‘no, no’ and ‘of course not’ until Gupta says, “maybe.”

Greg frowns. “Oh boy.”

“Is it true Peters asked you out before he left?” Gupta asks.

Greg’s eyebrows fly up.

“Is that why he left?” Bradford adds.

“Is it true you actually went on the date?” Brooks asks with a smile.

“Social climber that one,” Gupta says with mock airs.

"Bold social climber," Bradford amends.

“No, no, and no,” Greg grumbles to each of them in turn.

“Is it true your wife is getting remarried?” Donovan asks.

“I – what?”

“Is it true your wife is getting remarried to you?” Bradford asks.

“Is it true you’re growing your hair back out a bit?” Gupta asks and leans in a little. “Like it by the way!”

“If the four of you do not turn around and walk away from me right now I will find four very intricate individual murder cases that need immediate, all night attention.”

Brooks and Bradford turn around instantly while Donovan sighs loudly. Gupta flashes a grin before she also turns around and walks in the direction of Cooper and Avery. Greg turns his head to Donovan still standing beside him.

She shakes her head. “Dry spell?”

“Really?” Greg frowns. “Trying to ruin my night?”

She shrugs. “So yes?”

“You can talk.”

“You sure about that?”

Greg humphs. “Misery loves company.”

“Yes, because all women need a man to be complete.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “Right, on the nose there.”

Donovan takes a sip of her beer and cracks a smile. “Or that more your line now, eh?”

Greg frowns. “Maybe I enjoy being single and maybe it’s better my staff stay out of it.”

“Why, you worried Brooks will try to match you up?”

“I am now.”

Donovan just smiles. “Relax, Lestrade.” Then she turns and weaves through the people again.

Greg sighs and drinks down the rest of his beer. He thinks perhaps he should have just had New Year’s with David and Claire, even if Jane and Colin came too. At least there he could get completely pissed without setting some sort of bad example. What was he thinking?

Greg pulls his mobile out of his pocket and dials Claire. It takes two rings then she answers with an obviously champagne affected giggle, "hello big brother number two."

"It always sounds odd when you say that."

"It's accurate."

"I do not deny that."

Claire laughs again and Greg hears her saying something to someone in the background. "So, how’s your New Year going? Party at the yard, isn’t it?"

"Is it too late to come to your party?"

"Probably."

Greg sighs. "David there?"

"Nope. We siblings are separate this New Year’s."

Greg frowns. "I thought he and Jane were coming to yours along with all your fashionable friends?" Claire snorts and Greg hears her glass clink against something then the sounds of a door opening. "Are you outside now?"

"I swear I'm not smoking," she says even though Greg is pretty sure the sound he just heard was a lighter. "As for David," she continues, "he and Jane were going to come then they got a call from Rory."

"Oh no."

"Not as bad as you'd think, someone took his keys from him at his party since he got too drunk, already." Claire makes a 'tsk' noise. "So David had to go pick him up in Greenwich."

"Right."

"Disgrace to the Lestrade line, not even midnight yet."

"It's close."

In the background on Claire's end Greg hears a door open and someone else speaking; he thinks it sounds like Colin. Claire says 'right' and something else back.

"Greg, must go, time for the big toast,” Claire says.

"Get a bottle for yourself."

"Ha ha. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Claire." Then Greg hangs up.

Greg drops his arm then looks at the empty beer bottle in his hand. He wanders back to the drink table, tosses his empty bottle then grabs himself a new beer. He picks up a plastic cup to pour the beer into, change it up a bit. He looks up at the clock and sees it is less than a minute until midnight now. He turns his wrist over and sees his watch says one after. He will have to fix that.

Across the room someone turns on the telly and the sound of crowds mixes with the music. Everyone turns to look at the screen.

“Count down time!” Bradford cries. “Come on now!”

A few people chuckle then the clock hits ten and everyone starts to chant together. Greg puts down the empty bottle in his hand and takes a drink out of his cup. He thinks New Year’s feels particularly odd this year and rather wants to blame the family Holmes.

“Five, four, three –“

Then again, New Year’s is supposed to be about new beginnings and second chances.

“Two!”

Greg smiles and shouts with everyone else, “one!”

Noise makers go off all over the room and someone throws what must be a bucket of confetti over everyone. Avery and Bradford high five in place of a kiss while Gupta grabs Cooper by the back of her neck and kisses her much to Cooper’s surprise.

“Parni!”

Gupta just laughs.

In the same space by the windows they occupied before, Clipton and Bell kiss, her hands in his hair and his fingers clutching her back. When they stop kissing they do not pull back from each other. Greg sighs and turns away. 

He takes another large gulp of his beer, gazing out of the window to see people in the streets below. He reaches into his pocket without really thinking about it then pulls out his mobile again. He looks down at it in his hand then stops because he is not sure why he took it out. Then he realizes he was thinking about having someone to kiss. Greg shuts his eyes and puts his mobile away.

\---------

“You sure you want to do this?”

“It is just coffee, Greg.”

Greg shakes his head. “You always say ‘just’ but it never just is, is it?”

Mycroft sighs. “And now you sound paranoid.”

“Not paranoid, experienced.”

“With me?” Greg gives him a look and Mycroft shrugs. “Fine, Greg, be paranoid but decide, do you want to have coffee right now or not?”

Greg chews the edge of his lip and glances at the café across from them. Mycroft tilts his head and taps the sidewalk with his umbrella.

“Might I make an observation?” Mycroft asks.

Greg turns back to Mycroft. “What?”

“If you really did not want to see me and have coffee, would you have left your office and come here in the first place?”

Greg smiles instantly then chuckles. “Who’s the detective now?”

“That would still be yourself and Sherlock, shall we finally go in?”

“All right, all right, don’t get tetchy.”

Mycroft frowns. “Tetchy?”

Greg only smiles then steps over to the café and opens the door. Greg finds them a small table by the window while Mycroft orders their coffee. He wonders as he sits down if Mycroft arranges for one of his people to make a clear table by the window ahead of time whenever he is planning to meet Greg for coffee or dinner.

Greg sighs and rubs his forehead. “Yeah, paranoid.”

A few minutes later Mycroft sits down across from Greg and slides him a tall paper cup. “Milk and sugar.”

Greg frowns. “Sugar?”

Mycroft tilts his head. “You take sugar.”

“Not so much recently.”

Mycroft frowns. “You most certainly take sugar.”

“Have you been monitoring my coffee intake?”

Mycroft opens his mouth then shuts it again. He clears his throat, “apologies for the sugar then. Would you like another?”

Greg shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Mycroft, it's fine!”

“Fine.” Mycroft picks up his cup and sips some carefully. He grimaces slightly then puts the cup down.

“Hot?”

Mycroft raises his eyebrows but refrains from any sarcastic retort. It makes Greg smile.

“So,” Greg says, “here we are having coffee, new year and a new start, is that it?”

“The change of years is a manmade –”

Greg holds up a finger. “Don’t.”

Mycroft clicks his teeth together and picks up his cup. “Perhaps a ‘new start’ is apropos.”

“Right.” Greg takes the plastic top off of his coffee and blows on the liquid inside. He looks up at Mycroft as he puts the top down on the table. “About the card…”

“Please, Greg, try not to read a thousand different meanings into it.”

“What am I supposed to read into it?”

“That I simply wish for us to maintain a real relationship now. Yes, we have a past with certain aspects and faults but, as you said, it is a new start.”

“You’re saying you want us to be friends?”

“I…” Mycroft clears his throat. “I am not fond of that word.”

Greg laughs once. “You don’t like the word friend?”

“It does not seem like a proper description.”

“Not to mention we’re exes.”

Mycroft frowns and groans. “So many ridiculous words people find necessary to use as a means of definition for other people. It is unnecessary and idiotic.”

Greg picks up his cup and takes a sip of his coffee. “How’s that?”

“It is whittling down language and history into generalizations to make conversation easier.”

“You know you call Sherlock your brother all the time, isn’t that term ‘whittling down?’”

“It is a familial title.”

Greg grins then laughs, putting his cup down before he spills his coffee.

Mycroft cocks his head. “What is so amusing?”

“You.” Greg shrugs. “I guess I forgot how well you can split hairs.”

“I wouldn’t call…” Mycroft trails off when Greg begins laughing harder. He sighs then smiles. “Well, I suppose I am pleased I can still amuse you.”

“Just shows you might have a point.”

“That we may still be able to converse without you shouting?”

Greg snorts and picks up his coffee cup. “Oh well, when you put it like that I may swoon.”

Mycroft flushes for one instant then he sighs. “I see your humor has remained resolutely intact during my absence.”

Greg grins and takes another drink of his coffee. “Would you rather it hadn’t?”

Mycroft looks down at his coffee then back up at Greg with a smile. “Certainly not.”

Greg smiles right back, “good.”

\---------

As Greg stands in the witness stand he already knows this trial is going to shift and not in the way he wants. The solicitor for the defense smiles far too much as she stands; the solicitor for the prosecution, looks nauseated behind his supposedly confident face; Greg’s superintendent sitting directly behind the solicitor grits his teeth and Greg can see one hand balling into a fist. Greg stands stiffly and refuses to let his expression falter because, God damn it, everyone knows the Walters are guilty!

When the solicitor steps around her table, black high heels visible under her robes to match her black hair under the wig, Greg fears he can already see the end on the edge of her lips.

“Detective Inspector, you found evidence that the Walters family…”

Greg stays calm, calm and in control, succinct answers and the truth.

“And the bank security system never responded?”

“Well, it did, just not –“

“Did it or did it not?”

“That’s not –“

“And the evidence suggested…”

“Not suggested!”

Calm. He has to stay calm and not let this run away from them again.

“But in terms of an alibi?”

“They did not have a credible –“

“Credible? Are you the judge?”

“Your honor!”

“Where is the actual proof?”

“Proof. You have all the bloody proof you –“

“Circumstantial, possibly planted…”

“Now wait!”

“And where has the money gone?”

“That’s not –“

“What about video recording?"

“We have it!"

"Unclear and not factual.”

Greg feels his head swimming and he wants to jump out of the box and strangle the woman as she walks back and forth in front of the court on her high black heels. She smiles and points her finger making holes in every argument the prosecution has, every piece of evidence, every single thing he says, provides all the ‘reasonable doubt’ to make the jury turn against the obviously idiotic police.

And when the judge finally says, “you may step down,” it is all Greg can do not to tackle the closest member of the Walters family to the floor and make them bleed. The one brother smiles slowly and winks at Greg as he walks back to his seat in the audience. Greg very nearly shouts ‘fuck you.’

Greg sits back down next to Donovan. He glances at her and she shakes her head, jaw tight.

“Damn it…” Greg whispers.

“We don’t know yet,” she whispers back.

“Bloody hell we don’t,” Greg hisses.

“There’s still a chance.” She looks at him. “We have the evidence.”

“You heard her.” Greg breathes in slowly and grumbles, “reasonable doubt.”

Donovan huffs. “Reasonable doubt they’re not paying her off to turn this?”

“Shh,” Greg hushes her.

The superintendent glances back at Greg and Donovan. He frowns in a grim way then turns back around. Greg and Donovan look at each other then back at the judge speaking to both solicitors at his podium. Greg imagines he sees a noose hanging over their solicitor with the rope in the defense’s hand.

The jury deliberates for two hours while Greg paces out in the hall. He flips his mobile around in his hand as he paces. He wonders if Mycroft has read up on the trial, followed the past bank robberies at all. It might be important enough for Mycroft to care about but Greg thinks more likely not. What are a few banks to the whole of England? Sometimes Greg wonders if Mycroft actually cares about England or if he just enjoys the cloak and dagger.

Greg pulls Mycroft’s number up in his phone. He clicks it into text and stares at the empty white text box. 

_How was your new year?_  
_It’s nearly February, time flies._  
_Your new office working well? Could use windows._  
_Thanks for coffee. You made me laugh. Do you want to get coffee again?_  
_I swear I don’t miss you._  
_I didn’t miss you before._  
_Do you want to get coffee again?_

Greg clicks out of text without typing anything and clicks the screen to black, putting the mobile back in his coat pocket. He stares at the wall then glances down the hall. He sees Bell and Clipton talking, arms crossed, probably waiting to hear about the outcome of the trial as well. Bell glances at him and smiles in a worried way. Greg smiles back.

“Greg?”

Greg turns to see Donovan beside him. “Time?”

“Yeah, back in.”

They turn and walk into the court room again.

Two minutes later the foreperson stands up, reads the jury’s verdict ending with, “not guilty.”

The superintendent stands up immediately and stalks down the center isle out of the court room. The Walters family members whoop and clap each other on the back, one shaking hands with their solicitor as she grins. The solicitor for the prosecution slowly pushes his papers into a pile as his aid beside him whispers animatedly in his ear. Donovan breathes in and out deeply twice then shakes her head. Greg just keeps staring at the Walters, their smiling faces, their pleased solicitor, their hands clapping and suits buttoned up again. His teeth grind together and his knuckles are white from fisting his hands so hard.

Greg wants to kick the shite out of something.

\---------

“We already tried that!” Donovan snaps. “The point is the security systems failed. It’s not enough.”

“They don’t fail.” Bell flips through the stack of papers in front her. “No, the company proved they didn’t fail.”

“But there was no –”

“The point is –” Bell holds up a finger and reads. “’The reported incursion at the premises was tracked by the security system but not properly routed to the company response team.’”

Clipton frowns. “What?”

“The alarms didn’t go off,” Donovan translates and holds up a hand, “failed.”

“Partially failed,” Bell adds.

“On the take for security team you’re so pleased with their work, are you?”

“Oi!” Bell smacks the table and starts to stand up. “What the bloody hell did you –“

“Enough!” Greg snaps loudly enough that everyone around the table turns to look at him. He slices his hand through in the air in a cutting motion. “Not helping here. Calm down.”

Bell breathes in and sits back down in her chair. Donovan shoots her a look then crosses her arms. Clipton pats Bell’s forearm twice then shoots a look at Banks across the table. Banks’ face remains stiffly neutral.

“Look, we’re all frustrated by the Walters.” Greg huffs. “I’m right there with you.”

“He kicked his car,” Donovan mutters.

Greg flashes a look at her then continues. “They’ve gotten away from us enough times. The point is how do we catch them in the act? Forget about blame for now and figure out for me,” Greg taps the table with each word, “in the act.”

The other four officers around the table nod back at Greg. 

Greg breathes in and leans forward. “Bell, go over the report from the security company and figure out what went wrong. Want their alarms going off properly, don’t they?”

Bell chuckles. “I’ll do what I can, sir.”

“Find something. They’re supposed to be the best and if bastards like the Walters can muck them up, well…” Greg shrugs. “Rather that be the exception.” Greg turns and points at Donovan. “Donovan, you and Clipton go back through the last robberies, work on the pattern and evidence at the scene. We know they don’t leave much but anything can help. They’re not going to stop.”

“On it,” Donovan says as Clipton says, “yes, sir.”

“And Banks.” Banks sits up straighter as Greg turns to him. “You are the one with the law background. Need you to look at the transcripts from the defense’s case. She managed to poke holes in everything we had. I want to be able to shoot back or at least anticipate what she might fight with when the Walters do this again.”

Banks nods. “Happy day.”

“Right, on to it.” Greg make a swooping motion with his hands at he stands up, the others following him a second after.

The five of them leave the conference room in a line, Greg second to last with Banks behind him. Banks turns off to the right while the rest of them head left. Greg stops at Brook’s desk on his way.

“How is the double murder coming, that suspect you were on?”

Brooks sighs. “Dead end. She had a solid alibi.”

“Unless someone is lying?”

Brooks smiles. “If only. Got her on video smoking outside of a restaurant during the exact time. She’s out unless we have some Doctor Who time travel magic going here.”

“Doubt that. Isn’t it on a break now?”

Brooks just shakes her head and holds up a piece of paper. “Do have a request for a warrant to the sister’s flat, however.”

Greg nods and takes the paper. “I’ll send it up, priority.”

“Thank you.”

Greg keeps walking back toward his office. At his door, Cooper appears with a case file in her hand. He raises his eyebrows and she holds it out.

“Witness statements all in and evidence back; looks like five suspects for the deed.”

Greg frowns. “Which is this?”

“Tenth floor flat, made to look like a suicide.”

“Right.” Greg sighs and rubs his forehead. “Coordinate with Matthews.”

Cooper nods, “will do, guv.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Guv?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know, bringing back the classics?”

Greg frowns. “Right. Been away too long, have you?”

She snorts. “Maybe.”

They both turn away and Greg walks back into his office. Greg sits down at his desk and notices two new case files sitting in the middle. He blows out a breath of air and groans.

“Can’t people just stop murdering each other?”

He rubs the middle of his forehead then sits up straight and picks up the top file, sliding the other to the side. As soon as Greg opens the case file he feels his mobile buzzing in his suit jacket pocket. Greg leans back and pulls the mobile out. The screen reads ‘Mycroft.’

Greg clicks ‘answer’ and puts the mobile to his ear. “Hello.”

“I hear you were in court recently.”

Greg huffs quietly and smiles, turning a page. “Not for myself.”

“No, you were not the one on trial though, from what I read, it must have felt that way.”

“Didn’t know you were following the case?”

“I am not.”

Greg frowns, picking up his pen. “Then why bring it up?”

Mycroft makes a quiet ‘hmm’ noise. “Conversation?”

Greg bites the edge of his lip. “Don’t you usually call with a point?”

“I apologize if I am a blight on your day for wishing to speak with you.”

Greg sighs and puts the pen back down. “You know that’s not what I meant. You don’t do small talk. So what is it?”

Mycroft clears his throat. “Fine. I have a question I wish to ask you.”

“All right?”

“Valentine’s Day is next Friday.”

“That’s your question?”

“Greg,” Mycroft grumbles.

“Right, okay, Valentine’s Day, yeah it is. So?”

“So.” Mycroft clears his throat again. “Would you…” Mycroft is silent for two beats then Greg hears him breathe in deeply. “Would you have dinner with me?”

This time, Greg does not need to wonder if it is a date or not.

“Greg?” Mycroft says after Greg has remained silent for ten seconds.

“I… I’m here.”

“Should I take your silence as a ‘no?’”

“No, I…”

“’No’ as in you wish to say yes?”

Greg stares out through his office windows, the blinds open with Cooper walking by, Matthews beyond her and Donovan just turning a corner, a red exit sign like a beacon beyond. “Yes.”

“’Yes’ you will come to dinner?”

“Yes, I will.”

Mycroft laughs once quietly in a shy way Greg rarely hears from him. “Good.”

“Don’t send a car.”

Mycroft huffs but it is an amused sound. “As you wish.”

“Valentine’s Day?” Greg asks as he pushes the pen back and forth over his desk.

“It is an amorously themed holiday, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Well then. I shall send you the details and see you next Friday.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Greg.” Then the line clicks off.

Greg pulls his mobile down from his ear and places it on his desk beside the open case file. Greg shifts in his chair and pulls up his email on his laptop. He opens the calendar and clicks into the fourteenth. He types, ‘date with Mycroft,’ then saves. The note appears for the day at the top of that Friday in blue. 

Greg leans back in his chair and smiles.

\---------

“So, Mycroft asked me on a date.”

David gasps so high Greg almost thinks the sound came from Claire a second before she spits out her wine all over David’s kitchen island hitting Greg and David. David grits his teeth and closes his eyes, wiping both hands down his shirt.

“Jesus, Claire, don’t people only do that in movies?” Greg admonishes as he grabs a dish towel off the hook on the end of the counter.

“I just did it,” Claire says as she puts her wine glass down and wipes her chin.

“Lucky us.”

“Are you serious?” Claire snaps, smacking her hand on the counter top and shifting forward on her stool. “I mean, seriously serious?”

“Would I joke about this?”

“Maybe,” David says.

Greg glances at David then back to Claire. “I’m not.”

“Do it!” David says clapping his hands together once.

“Don’t do it,” Claire counters, pointing a finger at Greg.

“No, do do it.”

“He’s wrong, don’t.”

“Psh, I am not.”

“I’ve already said yes.”

“Perfect!” David cheers at the same time Claire gasps, “Cancel it!”

David and Claire turn to look at each other then both turn back to Greg. Greg smiles then tosses the dish towel between David and Claire into the sink behind them.

David glances back at it then frowns at Greg. "You know that should go in the laundry right? It's not a dish."

Greg rolls his eyes.

"Focus!" Claire snaps. "You are going on a date with bastard Mycroft?"

"Claire, you're doing that thing where you've got the negative nostalgia. Everything is ten times worse is Claire memory."

Claire scoffs. "I don't do that."

"You do," David and Greg say together.

"I'm not wrong," Claire says pointing back and forth between David and Greg.

"Claire..."

"To be fair Mycroft was a dick," David says as he walks around Claire toward the refrigerator.

Greg flings up a hand then drops it on the counter. "Weren't you on the 'I like Mycroft' team?"

"They're teams now?"

"When did you get back on that team?" Claire asks.

"Okay!" Greg waves his hands. "I take it back. There are no teams."

David laughs as he pulls a block of cheddar cheese out of the refrigerator. "Oh, there are teams."

"Then come back to my team, David, and tell Greg this is a bad idea." Claire holds out her hand toward the cheese.

David shrugs, ignoring her hand. "Why is it a bad idea?"

"Why is it a good idea?"

"Why is it any of your ideas?" Greg insists.

David frowns as he walks backwards past the refrigerator and opens a drawer on the other side.

Claire purses her lips. "You might have phrased that wrong."

"Yeah."

Claire reaches to the center of the counter and picks up the bottle of wine. She pours some more into her glass then puts the bottle back down. Behind her, David picks a cheese knife out of the drawer then closes it with his hip.

Greg cocks his head. "Is this a wine and cheese party now?"

"Is this a party now?" David says as he puts a piece of cheese in his mouth.

Claire takes a gulp of her wine. "Can we stick to the point? Why did you say yes?"

"’Yes’ to coming over here or ‘yes’ to Mycroft?"

"I didn't ask you," David singsongs as he puts a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"We would have gone to my house but Kate and John are sick," Claire hisses.

David chuckles. "Worst mother ever."

Claire picks up the wine opener and throws it toward David's middle. David dodges but the wine opener still clips him on his side.

"Ow! All right, ow!"

Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "I need more friends."

"Not when you have us." Greg drops his hand from his face as Claire pushes her glass of wine across the table toward him. "So, you were going to tell me why you said yes to the man who dumped you and lied to you about his brother being dead?"

"The Sherlock thing wasn't really the point in the break up."

"Wasn't it?"

"Only a small part."

"So?"

David sits down beside Claire on a stool and puts the cheese down in front of Greg. He flips the knife around and lays it down, handle out toward Greg.

Greg chuckles. "You know it's just one date, right? I'm not up and moving into his house."

Claire's eyes widen. "Was that ever an option?"

"No."

David frowns. "It wasn't?" Claire shoots David a seething glare and he puts his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, kidding, definitely kidding on that one!"

David puts his hands back down on the counter and turns to Greg. "Look, Greg, you can do what you want. Obviously I like Mycroft and I think you two had a lot of good points. I guess you just need to be more careful this time."

"Careful?"

"It's one date, yes, but you're bringing a year's worth of a relationship memories and fights on the back burner to it as well." David reaches across the counter and takes the cheese back. "Could easily veer into some emotional mess."

Greg sighs. "Doubt that."

"You can be a shouter," David says.

"That's true," Claire adds as she takes back the glass of wine.

Greg rubs his forehead. "I shouldn't have even told you two."

David and Claire laugh at the same time. Claire takes a big gulp of her wine and David bites off a chuck of cheddar straight from the block.

"You haven't answered my question," Claire says as she puts her glass back on the counter. "Why?"

"Why does anyone say yes to a date?" David answers for Greg.

"Shagging?" 

"Yes," Greg and David answer.

All three of them begin to laugh. Greg picks up Claire's glass of wine, takes a drink then points at the cheese in front of David. David picks up the cheese knife again and cuts off a piece from the end he did not bite. Greg slides the wine back to Claire, takes the piece of cheese from David then bites off half.

"You both know my answer to the 'why.'" Greg puts the other half of the cheese in his mouth. "Do you really need to ask me?"

"He has a nice arse?" Claire guesses.

"You like his suits?" David tries.

Greg gives them both a look.

"You're a sucker for punishment and heart ache?" Claire asks with a half serious look into her wine glass.

David reaches out and fluffs Greg's hair. "You still like him and think maybe you two can get it right this time?"

"Better than therapy you two are." David and Claire smile. "Don't you two do anything else in your lives?" Their faces fall at the same time and Greg chuckles.

Claire sighs and twirls her wine glass around on the counter. David picks it up out of her hands and takes a sip. While he's holding the glass Claire snatches the cheese away from in front of him. David glares at her and she grins, biting the end of the block. David cocks an eyebrow then downs the rest of the glass of wine. David puts down the empty glass and Claire puts down the cheese. They both turn back to Greg.

Greg smiles. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Please," they say.

"Did I mention the date is on Valentine's Day?"

"What?" David and Claire gasp together.

\---------

When Greg arrives at the restaurant, gold trim and some marble though the ceilings are a normal height this time, Mycroft is already seated at a table in a corner by the window. (Maybe Greg is not so paranoid about the window seating arrangements). Greg slips around two tables then sits down to the left of Mycroft with the window in front of him. Mycroft turns his head and smiles. Greg looks Mycroft up and down once, cream colored suit with a light plaid pattern similar to pinstripes, red tie though Greg does not see any pocket watch chain.

“You look nice,” Greg says, “though you usually do.”

“I imagine it is the suits.”

Greg chuckles. “Oh, well that.”

“You look splendid as well.”

Greg glances down at his white shirt and black tie. He shrugs and straightens his suit jacket. “No three piece though.”

Mycroft smiles. “Wouldn’t do to match too much.”

Greg smiles back. “True.” He picks up his menu. “So, what have we got?”

Mycroft makes a ‘hmm’ noise. “A great deal of seafood as a matter of fact. I hope that does not disappoint.”

“I can handle fish.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking over the menu, until the waiter comes to take their order. Greg sticks with the fish of the day while Mycroft pulls his usual fancy card and orders salmon. The waiter fills up their water glasses, takes their menus then leaves Greg and Mycroft with only each other.

“So…” Greg touches the end of the fork in front of his hand, inching it forward then pulling it back again. “A date.”

Mycroft sucks in a breath. “Yes…” He clears his throat. “Much like the last time.”

Greg looks at him. “Except you did not rent out a floor of the restaurant.”

Mycroft frowns. “Are you –“

“Disappointed?” Greg laughs once. “More like relieved.”

“Ah.” Mycroft raises both eyebrows. “I suppose something could be said about not using the same trick twice.”

“Was it a trick?”

“No.”

Greg smiles. “No ‘trick’ this time then?”

Mycroft cocks his head. “Unless you would consider the holiday a trick?”

“I’d consider the holiday a surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“Don’t peg you as the holiday type.”

Mycroft licks his lip and glances at the window. “It was convenient.”

Greg purses his lips but decides to let that one lie. “Okay.” Greg slides his palms over the table in front of him and sits up straight. “Sherlock back, John getting married, us on a date, quite a few change ups going through now.”

Mycroft looks back to Greg. “None of much consequence.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “None?”

“I suppose this one is most relevant but it is more a return than a change.”

Greg nods. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Mycroft smiles. “It is certainly the one I am most pleased about.”

“So am I.” Greg smirks. “But to be fair, I think a wedding might be a bit more important than us on a date.”

Mycroft breathes in through his nose. “If you care for that thing.”

Greg raises both eyebrows. “You remember who you’re talking to, right?”

“Exactly. You are divorced.”

Greg chuckles. “I see your point.”

“Additionally, as I said, the most pressing to me right now is you.”

Greg clears his throat and hopes he does not blush. “Some might think that was romantic to say.”

“I…” Mycroft smiles. “Purely accidentally.”

“Because you’ve never been romantic.”

“I have tried to be… attentive at times.”

Greg smiles, brushes his fingers against Mycroft’s on the table. “And you were.”

“Greg, I…” Mycroft stares at Greg’s face then reaches out and touches Greg’s hair. He smiles. “Growing your hair back out?”

Greg’s eyes tick up to Mycroft’s hand. “Well, wasn’t sure about the shorter cut.”

Mycroft chuckles once. “Is that so?”

“Some people didn’t like it.”

“Some people?”

Greg purses his lips and looks at Mycroft’s face. “One.”

Suddenly Mycroft’s leans forward, shifts his hand down to cup Greg’s cheek and kisses Greg all in one motion. Greg breathes in through his nose in surprise and kisses Mycroft back. Greg closes his eyes, touches Mycroft’s arm, presses his lips harder into Mycroft’s and remembers exactly how this felt before, shifts his lips, kisses more, does not break – remembers the first time, briefly on a street saying goodbye – tastes scotch, touches Mycroft’s neck with his other hand then Mycroft abruptly pulls away.

Greg opens his eyes, hands still up now in empty air, and looks at Mycroft in confusion. “What?”

Mycroft stares at Greg, shifts his eyes around the restaurant behind Greg then looks at him again. Mycroft puts a hand over his mouth – eyes far too wide – and props his elbow on the table.

“What?” Greg repeats.

“This was a mistake,” Mycroft says quietly around his hand.

Greg drops his hands and grits his teeth. “A mistake?”

Mycroft shakes his head. “I should not be doing this. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has!” Greg insists.

Mycroft scoffs and drops his hands. “No, it hasn’t, it is exactly the same and I cannot maintain relationships.” Mycroft huffs. “What was I thinking?”

“Yes,” Greg insists with anger in his tone, “just what were you thinking?”

“Nostalgia.” Mycroft looks away off into space to the left of Greg. “Sherlock returning must have triggered some ill-advised emotional response what with the reconciliation of himself and John.” Mycroft shakes his head, still staring somewhere beyond Greg. “Utterly ridiculous. I must get these impulses under control. Irrational!”

Greg smacks the table so Mycroft turns abruptly and looks at him again. Greg points to his own face. “I am right here, Mycroft, talk to me.”

Mycroft frowns. “What would you have me say, Greg? There is something about you which causes me to act completely contrary to what I know is best.”

Greg leans back in his chair away from Mycroft. “What is best? Mycroft, don’t you ever listen to yourself talk? You always try to logic emotions and you can’t do that. It never works when you try. 

Mycroft shakes his head and growls sharply, “If I sound so offensive to you then why did you say yes to this date?”

“Because I still like you, Mycroft! Why did you ask me?”

Mycroft shakes his head again. “I thought… I…”

“Thought what, Mycroft, what?”

“Thought this might be worthwhile but it cannot lead anywhere.”

“Oh my God, Mycroft. You’re a bloody idiot!”

Mycroft sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I must be completely out of my mind. It is insane!” He drops his hand again and stares accusingly at Greg. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Why do I –” Greg huffs sharply. “Why do _you_ do this to me?”

“I would wish to stop!”

“You’ve got to make up your mind!” Greg gestures between them. “It’s been two years and you can’t jerk me around like this!”

“It is not easy for me!” Mycroft says with a gasp in his tone.

“What do you even want? What do you want from me?”

Mycroft huffs in frustration. “I don’t know!”

“Exactly!” Greg bangs his fist on the table. “You don’t know. You never have!”

“And you always have to make everything so dramatic!”

Greg scoffs. “Mycroft, your ‘dramatic’ is everyone else’s normal.”

“You are a liability!” Mycroft snaps.

Greg’s arms tense and he stares at Mycroft, face flushed and the deepest frown across his face. “Are you telling me or yourself that?”

Mycroft grits his teeth. “I cannot be in a relationship.”

“Why? Too dangerous? National Security? Secrets? What?”

“Yes.”

Greg snorts, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “You know something, Mycroft, for being so smart it is amazing how much you can blind yourself to simple things.”

Mycroft sighs. “Like what, Greg, like you?”

“No, like you.”

Mycroft frowns. “That does not –“

“You can’t even tell how you really feel about someone!”

Mycroft stands up abruptly and walks around the table. He stares at Greg as he straightens his suit jacket. “I feel the need to leave.”

“Run away,” Greg spits back.

Mycroft’s jaw clenches but he turns around and marches away without another word. Greg fists his hands against his sides and stares hard at the table, a thousand reasons and a thousand words all circling around his head. Then Greg uncrosses his arms quickly and hits Mycroft’s water glass off the table so it smashes against the wall then kicks Mycroft’s chair so it follows suit, knocking into the wall and toppling over. People at the tables around him jump in surprise though really how could they be so surprised after that shouting match?

“Sir, you need to leave.” Greg turns to see their shocked looking waiter beside him with their dinner in his hands and what must be the manager behind him. “Or I will have to call the police,” manager adds with an attempt at intimidation.

Greg stands up and pulls his wallet out of his jacket pocket. “I am the police.” He flashes the badge.

The manager’s mouth gapes and he tries to form words while the waiter looks back and forth between them. Greg folds up his wallet again, puts it back in his pocket then walks past the pair toward the restaurant door. Greg bangs through the double doors and stands on the sidewalk. He shakes his head hard then puts up his hand to hail a taxi.

“Idiot,” Greg hisses to himself with no idea which of them he is talking about.


	2. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And I know how he feels about me even if he’s afraid of it. If he needs to take it slowly now I can. I am willing to put in the time. I know it doesn’t make sense, it’s not rational but that’s not how feelings work. You both know that. If I feel this way about him – and I know he does about me – it’s not just going to disappear, because it hasn’t gone away even after a year of nothing, so I have to at least try for it and I will.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am going to say right off the bat that most of the computer stuff in here is bullshit. I am only computer savvy in the generational sense and do not have a tech background. Thus, I tried to make it sound as 'good' as I could and I apologize to the programmers, etc. reading that look at those portions of this chapter and cringe.
> 
> [And, as usual, feel free to britt pick me. I think I got them all this time. Fingers crossed.]
> 
> PS: I am casting our major characters: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the)

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior on Friday evening.”

“All right, so apologize.”

Mycroft clears his throat. “I am sorry, Greg.” Greg hears the click of a door through the phone line. “I behaved poorly.”

“Hmm, that’s one word.”

Mycroft sighs but does not rise to Greg’s bait. “I behaved irrationally. I obviously attempted to rush things by pushing us both into a… a date and it was obviously not the right decision.”

“Not the right decision?”

“When Sherlock was gone and I did not see you I… I fell back on familiar patterns which can make me less than desirable company.”

“I believe that,” Greg says as he picks up a pen from his desk

Mycroft huffs once quietly. “When one’s profession is the wellbeing of an entire country, it is easy to be completely absorbed in one’s work and nothing else, except perhaps an undead brother in trouble in Serbia.”

Greg frowns and clicks the pen in his hand twice. “Serbia?”

“The point is, Greg, I acted rashly when I saw you again because I felt…” Mycroft trails off then clicks his teeth. “Well, I suppose I remembered there is more.”

“You say this now, Mycroft, but Friday you were snapping at me about not maintaining relationships and me being a liability. Which one is it?”

“Both.”

Greg sighs. “Mycroft…”

“I care about you, Greg, but I should not have thought I could simply jump back two years into our previous rapport nor is it fair for me to expect you to read my mind and understand the pressures I feel.”

“Are you blaming your job again?”

“No, I am blaming myself. I have difficulty in situations with other people beyond professional capacity, as you know. It is not how I prefer to spend time. However, you are a notable exception and you deserve far better than how I acted.”

“So why did you ask me in the first place?” Greg stares at his desk, papers and case files and a dinner table with broken glass. 

“You know why.”

“Should I have known better, not have said yes?”

“No, it was my fault.” Greg raises his eyebrows but says nothing yet. Mycroft breathes in audibly and clicks his tongue. “I wanted… I had…” He clears his throat again. “I’ve missed you very much, Greg.”

Greg bites the edge of his lip but does not respond.

“I do not want to ruin our relationship, whatever it is, and go another year without seeing you.”

“That’s not how you were acting three days go.”

“Then I was wrong!” Mycroft snaps. Greg pulls his mobile away from his ear for a second then puts it back. He hears Mycroft take two deep breaths. “I was wrong,” Mycroft repeats. “Perhaps we need not jump into such a thing again.”

“Are you saying you want to take it slow or something?”

“I am saying I wish to apologize for Friday and hope that you will forgive me for it.”

“You know you’re an idiot, right?” Greg grumbles.

“I…” Mycroft huffs. “I am not a –”

“Yes, you are.” Greg sighs then chuckles once. “You really think too hard.”

Mycroft huffs again. “Is this a yes or a no?”

“You can’t do that again to me, Mycroft, all right? No more dates that halt part way through because you have an emotional crisis about commitment or whether it’s safe to date due to National Security.”

“I suppose I can –”

“I mean it, Mycroft. You’re giving me whiplash here.”

Mycroft chuckles politely. “I understand.”

“All right.”

“Does this mean in regards to the dinner you –”

“Yes, Mycroft, I forgive you.”

Mycroft lets out an obviously held breath. “Thank you.”

“Might want to stick to just coffee for a bit though.”

Mycroft laughs once. “I defer to you.”

“Mycroft.”

“Yes?”

“I missed you too.”

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft sit across from each other at a small table, coffees in between them and, for once, not beside a window. Most coffee shops really do look the same, maybe a bit more metal or a bit more wood but still the same system and the same people with laptops or mobiles all around. Greg thinks his coffee intake has increased ever since that first time Mycroft stopped beside his crime scene in one of those black cars. Then again, Greg was probably plenty addicted to caffeine before Mycroft came along. Mycroft just gave him more of a reason to drink coffee somewhere besides his desk or kitchen. 

“Greg?”

Greg blinks twice and breathes in. “What?”

Mycroft smiles and shifts his coffee cup closer to him. “Day dreaming?”

“I wouldn’t call it dreaming.” Greg takes a sip of his coffee, no sugar now. “More like thinking.”

“Ah yes. About London crime or something more present?”

“Coffee shops.”

Mycroft purses his lips. “And here I thought it might have been me.”

Greg chuckles once. “Full of yourself, are you?”

“Well, it appears I have been causing you some frustration and confusion of late. Were the places reversed, no doubt I would be spending some time pondering what to do about you.”

Greg nods. “Well, I’ve already done some of that, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Mycroft blushes instantly and almost drops his coffee cup as he is picking it up. “What?”

Greg grins. “I might have given up on you by now if you weren’t.”

Mycroft laughs once in an airy way. “Please don’t.”

“You have to be in this with me, Mycroft,” Greg says suddenly.

“We are not dating again, Greg, was that not the point? That it was clearly a jump too –”

“That’s not what I said. I mean an effort. You can’t just run back behind Sherlock and your office.”

“I do not run behind –”

“Don’t you?”

Mycroft frowns. “I thought I was the one who did the thinking?”

Greg frowns back. “Trying to bait me?”

Mycroft sighs. “No. No, you are right. Sherlock once said to me…” Mycroft clears his throat and shakes his head. 

Greg cocks his head and sips his coffee again. “What did Sherlock say?”

Mycroft licks his bottom lip, glances at Greg then looks away again. “Something about goldfish.” He sighs. “And isolation.”

“What?”

Mycroft shakes his head once more. “It is not important, more curious, but that is my brother in many respects.”

“Right…”

“Greg, again, I am sorry.”

Greg breathes in slowly. “I said I forgive you but I might still be a bit pissed off about it, all right?”

Mycroft smiles. “As you should be.”

“So, why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you say all that? Why did you run away, again?”

Mycroft takes a quick, deep drink of his coffee. “Must we psychoanalyze me?”

“It does seem to be one area you aren’t too smart in.” Mycroft gives Greg a sharp look but does not reply. Greg sighs. “Fine. Won’t psychoanalyze.”

Mycroft nods. “Wise.”

Greg sighs and puts his coffee back down. “Mycroft.” Mycroft looks at him. “I need you to actually try now, okay? Because I can’t do this forever, you know that, right?”

“I do.” Mycroft slides his hand across the table closer to Greg’s. “But I am hardly perfect, Greg.”

“I know.”

“I cannot guarantee –”

“Neither can I.”

“You can. You always can.”

Greg smiles and brushes his fingers over Mycroft’s. “Then follow my example, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft smiles and does not move his hand.

–––––––––

Greg stands in front of his stove, some cut chicken beside him and onions in the pan swimming in brown sauce. On one of the back burners a large pot of water is attempting to boil for when Greg decides to start the pasta. He pushes the onions around in the pan once more then puts down the spatula.

“So he apologized?” David asks from behind Greg.

“I said he did, didn’t I?”

“And you forgave him?” Claire asks from his right.

Greg glances at her as he picks up the cutting board of chicken. “I did.”

Greg does not need to look at Claire and David to know they are having an eye conversation behind him. He slides the chicken into the pan using the dull side of the knife then puts both back down on the counter. He picks up his beer from near the wall then turns around.

“So, what do you want say?”

“What are you doing?” Claire asks.

Greg glances at David but he says nothing. He looks back at Claire. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Greg. What are you doing? You told us how this date ended and now you’re smiles and sunshine again?”

“I’m not smiles and sunshine.”

“But you definitely want to keep going with this with Mycroft.”

“We’re not seeing each other again, Claire.”

Claire points with one finger. “Yet.”

“What makes you think we even will? The date didn’t go well.”

“You’re playing devil’s advocate against your own side now because I’m right.” She holds out both her hands to the sides. “You’re telling us he called, apologized and you turned up the ‘forgive’ card.”

“Claire…”

She waves one hand and plants the other on her hip. “No, no. You see, he pursues you, you date him, he breaks up with you, you cycle through the sorrow, skip ahead a year, you two see each other again, he asks you on a date again, you go and then it’s a disaster. Now it’s into apologies and do you see the cycle here, Greg?”

Greg turns back to the stove, picking up his spatula with his free hand, and shifts the chicken around in the pan. “Relationships aren’t all straight lines, Claire.”

“Don’t give me inspirational quotes, Greg,” Claire insists.

Greg puts down the spatula and turns around again. “David?”

David stands with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside the door to the kitchen. He taps his beer bottle against his bottom teeth and shakes his head.

Greg raises both eyebrows. “Well?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Greg sighs. “You too?”

“I’m asking why, Greg. I’m sorry but Claire is right, this does not look good. So why do you want to keep going? Because we can both tell you do.”

Greg breathes out slowly. “Because I think it can work if I just give it time.”

“You’ve given him a lot of time, Greg.”

“Look,” Greg takes a sip of his beer, finally remembering it is in his hand. “This is a second chance for Mycroft and I. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it but that’s not the point really. I still care and want to see if we could make it work this time around. He needs some time and I can be patient.”

“But why do you need to be?” Claire asks. “Why is it on you?”

“It’s not.” Greg grins. “Just think it’ll work better if I lead on this time instead, you know?”

Claire sighs and shoots a look at David. David glances at her then to Greg again. “Greg, you know I was all for this before because I thought Mycroft was just messed up about his brother when you broke up and when it turned out how it did I thought you could get back to how you and Mycroft were. You were very happy. I saw that.”

“I know.”

“But, Greg, you had your second chance, your ‘this time.’ It was that date. It failed.”

“It was one bad date!”

“Greg!” Claire insists. “This is ridiculous. It’s a bust. Give up. What is wrong with you?”

“Is this about turning fifty?” David asks. “You think if you can’t make it work with Mycroft it’s too late to find someone else?”

“Okay.” Greg turns, puts his beer down then turns back around to face his siblings. “I know it doesn’t make sense.” He sweeps a hand in the air. “Mycroft is difficult and has a long way to come in terms of his emotional maturity but…” Greg breathes in slowly. “He’s special, he’s something different. He’s smart, talented, charming and when he’s really looking at me I know it’s all about me in that second.” Greg takes one step back, touches the counter then pulls his hand away again. “And I know how he feels about me even if he’s afraid of it. If he needs to take it slowly now I can. I am willing to put in the time. I know it doesn’t make sense, it’s not rational but that’s not how feelings work. You both know that. If I feel this way about him – and I know he does about me – it’s not just going to disappear, because it hasn’t gone away even after a year of nothing, so I have to at least try for it and I will.”

For a minute Claire and David say nothing. Claire stares at the floor, her hands crossed over her chest while David watches Greg. He takes a drink of his beer then lets his one arm fall down to his side and puts his hand in his pocket.

“I can be patient,” Greg says. “You both know that. Remember how long Anne and I stayed together when we shouldn’t have?”

Claire looks up with a frown. “Isn’t that an argument against doing this?” 

Greg chuckles once. “It just means I want to see something through before calling time.”

“It takes two to play this kind of game, Greg.” David puts his beer down on the kitchen table. “How do you know Mycroft is going to be there with you?”

“I guess I don’t, not for sure, but I’m willing to try.”

“Why?”

“Fortune favors the brave?” David and Claire roll their eyes at the same time. Greg smiles. “And I don’t like giving up.”

The two of them look at Greg, glance at each other then back again. Greg crosses his arms and waits. He looks at David who purses his lips then looks at Claire again. Greg turns to Claire and she breathes out slowly.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you this time,” David says.

“I did last time,” Claire adds dryly.

Greg grins. “You told me to be careful.” He shoots a nod at David. “I will be.”

“Better,” David insists.

“Yes, sir.” Greg salutes.

He picks up his beer again and takes a sip. David picks his up as well and hands it to Claire who takes a long chug then hands it back to David. Greg snorts quietly and shakes his head.

“You’re burning the dinner,” Claire and David suddenly say together.

Greg laughs for one second then gasps and whips around when he realizes they meant literally.

–––––––––

“We have to catch them in the act, right?” Bell says she stands in front of the table.

“Yes,” the rest of them reply together.

“Then it all has to be down to alarm system.” She holds up a stack of papers. “I’ve been all over this. Their alarm system is functioning just as it should be. It responds at the break in but somewhere there is a hitch.”

“Did you find it?” Donovan asks.

Bell frowns. “That’s just it, I don’t think it’s there to find.”

“Not a virus?” Clipton suggests.

“That would leave signs.”

Greg stands up and walks over to Bell, taking the papers from her hands. “And nothing from evidence? Nothing from some of the tech people? Did Cooper take a look? She was always good with the cyber–attacks.” He frowns. “Or Gupta?”

“Is that racist?” Clipton mutters.

Bell nods at Greg, ignoring Clipton. “Cooper looked. She said there were no signs of a virus and the code was intact. She did say something about tracking.”

Greg frowns. “Tracking?”

“She said the security company had some pings on their tracking systems but they kept disappearing.”

“Someone is in their system?” Donovan asks.

“They’re hacking,” Greg finishes and drops the papers on the table. He turns and walks over to the white board. “They are hacking the system while they’re in there. They’re cutting it off in the middle, right?”

“Hacking from the source?” Bell asks.

“They must be hacking it somehow so the alarms go off but no one gets the alert that they have. They must be hacking the system to make it seem to all of us watching that no one is there.”

“But there is no virus –” Clipton starts but Bell waves a hand.

“They’re hacking the whole system!” Bell says. “They are making the security alarms mean nothing so there is no warning, so no one comes, so they get the money they want, like reprograming almost.” She picks up the security system papers again. “Right? I’m not just saying shite, am I?”

Greg writes ‘reprograming’ on the white board, grinning as he does. “No, I don’t think so. They’re hacking the system then deleting the traces so we don’t think it’s been hacked.” 

“But we still come, we still get alarms,” Clipton interrupts.

Bell frowns. “A delay maybe? A loop or something?” 

Greg turns around and points at Donovan with the erasable marker. “You said it before, Sally. They know when we’re coming. They know that a response has been sent out because they are hacking and watching.” 

“Shite,” Donovan says at the same time Clipton says, “fuck.”

He turns to Bell. “Might be their hack only works for so long before the system catches them but they are getting better.”

“So, what, do we have to hack them right back?” Bell asks.

“No, we just need to know when they are hacking,” Donovan says.

Greg writes the words ‘reverse hack’ on the board. He taps the pen on the board and Bell cocks her head. She points at it then looks over her shoulder at Donovan.

“We need to figure out a way to trace their hacking so they don’t know that we can see them hacking.”

Clipton sighs. “My head hurts.”

“I’ll explain it to you later, baby,” Bell says making Clipton’s eyebrows fly up and his face flush.

“Right.” Greg says. “Bell, get back with the security group, see what they can do to find evidence of hacking in their system. Donovan, go back to the banks and check the systems on their end, find Banks and take him along to help.”

“Yes, sir,” both women say then Donovan chuckles quietly. “Banks to the bank.”

Bell’s eyes widen. “Did you just make a joke?”

Greg turns to Clipton. “Ted, you and I are going to find out how we can ‘reverse hack’ them. Got to be some tracker we can set up and,” Greg waves a hand at all of them, “all of this has to lead us to where they will hit next.”

Clipton sighs heavily. “God, I hate the Walters.”

Greg chuckles. “Oh, me too.”

Bell points at the white board suddenly. “We need to make our tracer so that it can cover a number of bank systems that will be set to identify the Walters hack, so when they are there we get our own ping they don’t know about.”

Greg grins. “Keep this up and they’ll make you detective, Bell.”

“I’m counting the days.”

“All right, let’s get on it.” Greg points at Clipton. “Start on talking with Cooper, see who we can loop in to work on our own tracking.”

“She’ll love it. You know that gleam she gets in her eye.”

“The ‘she might have been a hacker in a past life’ gleam?”

Clipton frowns. “Might?”

Greg shakes his head. “Get on it.”

“Aye aye.”

Back in his office, Greg accesses their database for information about the systems they already have in place. He knows drugs directorate has used quite a number of high tech surveillance techniques, many which went straight into computer systems. Greg pulls his mobile out of his desk and checks it while his computer queues up the list. He sees a text from Mycroft:

_[13:34] Sherlock is to be John’s best man. I pity the happy couple. Coffee at 3?_

Greg laughs once. “We all knew that was coming, Mycroft.” Then he texts back:

_[14:30] Big surprise. See you at 3._

Greg wonders absently if Mycroft has some MI5 hacking and tracking system Greg can borrow.

–––––––––

The next time Greg and Mycroft have coffee they sit outside, no windows and only warming March around them. They slide their chairs side by side, watch the people walk by, quiet conversation paired with companionable silence like it is Italy all over again except with the familiarity of English voices and London grit. Greg finishes his coffee before Mycroft, stops checking his watch and after an hour Mycroft still stays.

“Shouldn’t you be saving England from terror?” Greg asks quietly.

“I’d rather sit here,” Mycroft says and runs his fingertips over the back of Greg’s hand.

For a moment, it feels like two and a half years never happened.

–––––––––

Greg stands beside Brooks as she kneels next to the body taken from the Thames. They have already identified him as a prominent business man mostly into insurance but with some investments which affect various MPs. Avery recognized him on sight, so Greg sent him back to make the call to the superintendent. The higher ups do so love to hear straight away when they get a high profile body. Greg really hopes they don’t have to hold a press conference.

“Drowning or no, Brooks, what do you think?”

She stands up again and shakes her head. “No.”

Greg points to the man’s head. “Bash in the skull?”

Brooks chuckles with only half humor. “That’s just the one, come here.”

She crouches down again and Greg follows her. Once he is lower, closer to the body he sees just what she means.

“Stab wounds,” they say at the same time then look at each other.

“I’d say at least five,” Brooks adds as she turns back to the body, “but who knows when we turn him over. Et tu, brute?” 

Greg snorts. “Maybe. From what Avery said he’s the ‘cut them down’ type when it comes to his colleagues. Keeping more for himself.”

Brooks shakes her head. “Why can’t everyone just take reasonable, average pay jobs like us coppers?”

Greg laughs again. “Oh, if only. Would we have much of a job then?”

“It might feel like we were paid accordingly.”

Greg sighs and stands up. He glances around and sees a forensics team picking their way down the hill toward the side of the river. Avery runs up behind them then stops in front of Greg.

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Report?”

“No swearing but they do want to organize a press conference.”

Greg frowns. “Today?”

Avery nods. “Few hours I think, if they can. Said they’d call you direct.”

Greg bites the edge of his lip and nods at Avery then points behind up toward the road. “Right. Is Bradford up there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, the two of you canvas for any witnesses and throw up some caution tape. If someone recognizes him we might have a bit of a crowd.” He points a finger. “Call in some back up as well.”

“Sir.” Then Avery turns and jogs back up the hill.

Greg turns back to their dead man to see two of their team taking photos and putting samples into plastic bags. Brooks stands a few paces away writing in her notebook. Greg clicks his teeth twice then turns and walks a few meters away. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and clicks Mycroft.

The phone rings twice then Mycroft answers. “Yes, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, how may I assist you?”

Greg laughs and smiles. “Gregory?”

“I assume Greg is short for Gregory unless your parents had some sort of cheek when they chose to name you.”

“No one calls me Gregory.”

“I will not make it a habit.”

Greg narrows his eyes at the air and feels fairly sure Mycroft will pull this one out again sometime. “In a good mood, are you?”

“As quiet a day as I can have presently and, as I am talking to you, that indeed makes it better.”

Greg smiles again. He turns over his wrist and checks his watch. “Had lunch?”

“It is nearly two.”

“That a yes?”

“I am afraid so. I am at the Diogenes at present.”

“And you’re talking to me?”

“There is a room for that, which you know.”

Greg nods. “True. I suppose coffee is out of the question then if you’re stuck in your Victorian era.”

Mycroft sighs. “Really, Greg.”

“Really, Mycroft.” Greg mimics. “Can’t find some time later?”

Mycroft clears his throat and Greg imagines him smiling, shy yet warm and true since no one can see him. “Perhaps I can.”

“It can be a quick one. I am going to have to do a press conference at some point.”

“Oh? Particularly heinous serial murderer?”

“No, just a dead business man.”

“Just?”

Greg rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I most certainly do.” Something clinks in the background and Greg sees glass tumblers. “Money does make for far more interest to certain people of important stature; especially when it is their money.”

“Or what could’ve been theirs.”

Mycroft laughs once. “Thrilling.”

“If you like that kind of thing.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you?”

Mycroft makes a ‘hmm’ noise and Greg hears the glasses clink again. “You have a point. Terribly dull.”

“Are we still talking about money and MPs?”

“Were we ever talking about MPs?”

Greg snorts. “Guess not. So, this a yes or a no for coffee later?”

“I did say ‘perhaps.’”

“Which doesn’t answer either way, you know.”

Mycroft sighs. “Then make it a ‘yes,’ Greg.”

Greg smiles. “I will.”

“Good.”

“It doesn’t always have to be coffee. Lunch or dinner works too.”

“Greg, it is hardly my fault that you chose to call after I already ate for the mid–day meal. You notice the time, do you not?”

“You know that wasn’t my point.”

Mycroft clears his throat. “I believe we said something about no more dates as of now.”

Greg licks the edge of his lip and shakes his head once, pulling the mobile back from his ear. Then he puts it back and tilts his head. “Does lunch have to be a date?”

“Dinner often is.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Fine.”

“Unless you want it to be.”

Mycroft huffs. “For someone who was on the negative receiving end of my unwise, rash behavior you are particularly eager to resume what we blundered into now.”

“Maybe it’s better with me at the helm.”

Greg hears Mycroft’s breath hitch in a way that could be any number of things but Greg would bet ten to one is desire. Mycroft pauses for a long moment then breathes out audibly. “Perhaps.”

Greg grins and makes a note somewhere in the back of his head. 

“Sir!” Bell calls from behind him. 

Greg flashes a look at her, waves a hand then turns away again. “Coffee later then?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll wait until I hear from you.” Then Greg hangs up and turns back toward Bell and their watery crime scene.

–––––––––

The next time Greg calls Mycroft about coffee Mycroft does not answer the phone. Greg does not leave a message and Mycroft does not call back.

–––––––––

Greg walks into the morgue, two case files in his hand and Donovan texting him updates every minute on the PCs progress out in the field, narrowing down the suspects on their murder of the day – three bodies and the warning of more to come. Greg already called Sherlock and received a far too excited ‘yes’ to help. For once, Donovan did not object to their ‘consulting detective’ adding his prowess to the fight. The flat had been locked up tight and all three bodies were drained of blood. Clipton has been making vampire jokes while Banks fills in reasons why the lore would not fit in this situation. All in all, Greg wants to go home and stick his head in the oven.

“I have your cause of deaths,” Molly says as Greg walks over, mobile back in his pocket again.

“Let me guess, blood loss?”

“Nope, it was post mortem.”

Greg frowns. “What?”

“They were drained of their blood post mortem.”

“So?”

Molly hands him her report. “Strangled, all three.”

Greg glances at the one corpse beside them, bruises at the neck more apparent than they had been at the scene. “So, he strangles them then drains their blood?”

Molly nods. “And it might be a woman.” Greg looks up and raises his eyebrows at her. She holds up her hands. “Small hands. Could be a man but more likely a woman by the size. Plus,” she points at the body beside them, “distinct nail marks. Bit long for a man.”

“True.”

“It’s conjecture, I know, but thought it could help.”

“You always do, Molly.”

“So! Wedding!”

Greg blinks and looks up again from the report. “I’m sorry?”

“John and Mary. Coming up fast and now we know Sherlock is the best man.” She chews her lip. “I’m worried about the stag night. Does he even know how to plan one?”

Greg snorts. “Doesn’t take much, Molly. As I hear, it’s the hen nights you have to plan more for.”

Molly frowns. “Bit sexist that.”

Greg jerks his head up. “I wasn’t, I mean I didn’t mean...”

Molly laughs. “It’s fine. Sherlock might not even know he has to plan a stag night.” Molly stops laughing. “Should we tell him?”

“I’d rather not.”

Molly sighs. “I can’t help but be worried.” She shakes her head and suddenly pulls off one of her latex purple gloves. “By the way, are you bringing someone?”

Greg opens one case file and adds Molly’s report to it. “What, to the wedding?”

“Of course. What with you divorced, you’re not – I mean, I didn’t… Of course you can…” Molly clears her throat. “So, are you?”

“Uh.” Greg bites his lip and realizes there is a very loaded answer to that question. “Not sure yet. You bringing Tom?”

Molly grins. “Yes, of course!”

“Good.”

Molly pulls off her other glove and tosses them both toward a biohazard bin. She takes off her protective glasses and cocks her head to the side. “I wonder if Sherlock’s brother is coming. Was he invited, do you know?”

Greg frowns. “Is there a reason you asked those two questions so close together?”

“Two questions?”

“About me bringing someone and if Mycroft is coming.”

Molly blinks and frowns. “Sorry, what?”

“Never mind.” Greg drops his arm and points to the corpse with his other hand. “Anything else on these three? Toxins?”

Molly shakes her head. “All clean. Clean and quiet. Pretty odd one.”

“Right. Good thing Sherlock’s coming round.”

Molly’s eyebrows shoot up and she touches her hair. “Here?”

“No, the scene.”

She slowly drops her arms. “Right, yeah.” She clears her throat. “Well, good luck and see you at the wedding!”

“Probably see you before that, Molly.”

She shrugs. “Never know. Most of the people I see aren’t breathing anymore.”

Greg stares at her for two beats then nods slowly. “Thanks, Molly.”

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft sit across from each other at lunch. Mycroft’s salad looks like some chef’s attempt at creativity with the various types of leaves combined with what must be sunflower seeds and walnuts as well as beetroots and some kind of fruit, mandarin oranges maybe? Greg really wants to ask Mycroft why he picked it because it seems so unlike Mycroft in personality Greg cannot stop staring at Mycroft eating it. Then again, the idea of food reflecting personality might go right over Mycroft’s head.

“Must you?” Mycroft says.

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

Greg laughs once then puts down the crisp he was holding. “It’s just your salad.”

Mycroft glances down at it and frowns. “My salad?”

“It’s…” Greg waves a hand in a circle vaguely toward the salad. “It’s just not you.”

Mycroft blinks. “The salad is not me?”

“It has nuts on it and beetroots.”

“Both of which are healthy and appropriate items to be part of a salad.”

Greg nods. “Yeah, they are.”

“So?”

Greg sighs. “Never mind.” Greg pokes at his sandwich, only about a fourth left. He glances up at Mycroft again as he cuts a beetroot in half. Greg smiles and shakes his head.

Mycroft raises his eyes. “Does my salad offend you so?”

“Maybe I just like watching you eat.”

“I notice you seem to enjoy it more when you have made the food.”

“Are you asking me to cook for you?”

Mycroft purses his lips. “I’m not asking.”

“Not directly?”

“Not any way.”

Greg cocks his head. “You don’t want to eat my cooking?” He frowns. “Never again?”

“And there is your cheek for the day.”

“You think this is it?”

Mycroft laughs once and smiles in a surprised way. Greg smiles back and takes another bite of his sandwich. He loves hearing Mycroft really laugh.

“I will cook for you,” Greg says after he swallows. “It has been awhile.” He shrugs. “What with break ups and all.”

Mycroft glances at Greg then away again. However, he does not respond.

Greg watches him for a moment then leans closer over the table. “Well?”

“Well, what, Greg?” Mycroft half snaps.

Greg sighs and leans back again. “Okay, look, this shouldn’t be that difficult, Mycroft. You like me or you don’t.”

“It is not that simple, Greg.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You know how I feel, Greg. That is hardly the issue.”

Greg narrows his eyes. “Do I know how you feel?”

“I asked you on a date, did I not?”

“Yes, and then you ran out like someone told you your house was burning down with parliament inside.” Mycroft gives Greg a withering look. Greg shrugs back. “It’s true.” Greg makes air quotes. “’Completely contrary to what you know is best.’”

Mycroft puts down his fork with lettuce still speared on the end. “Are you forever going to bring this up?”

“Actually, you brought it up first.”

Mycroft sighs. “I apologized.”

Greg bites his lip and nods. “You’re right, you did.” Greg holds up a hand in surrender. “I bury it for real.”

“If you were truly still angry about it we would not be here.”

Greg smiles. “Right.”

“I simply…” Mycroft breathes in slowly. “I simply think…” Mycroft trails off again.

“What?”

“I simply think you may be better off without me.”

Greg groans. “Come on, Mycroft, are you a brooding teen?”

“It is not a joke, Greg.”

“I’m not laughing. It’s an excuse.”

“Sometimes you do not know what you are talking about!” Mycroft snaps.

Greg grits his teeth then taps the table with his knuckles. “Then what are you doing here?”

Mycroft stares at Greg for a moment then sighs. “I… no, you are right. It is an excuse.”

Greg blinks. “Wow.”

Mycroft looks up at Greg. “What?”

“It’s just weird to hear you say ‘you’re right’ so honestly.”

Mycroft smiles and laughs once. He shakes his head and touches Greg’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

Greg laughs. “Should have recorded it.”

They smile at each other, still for a moment, then Greg pulls back and picks up a crisp off his plate. He only has about fifteen more minutes before he should head back to work. They’ve closed some cases recently so the load is lighter but there is always the Walters to be worked on. Plus, Donovan and Bell have been giving him searching looks lately with all his coffee trips out.

“Greg.”

Greg looks up at Mycroft and raises his eyebrows. Mycroft puts his fork down then breathes in swiftly. “I am sorry I never told you about Sherlock being alive.”

Greg’s body tenses then he swallows slowly and nods. “Thank you.”

–––––––––

“He’s going to miss.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”

“He’s a prat.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “One bad interview…”

“And he has a historically bad track record with scoring goals. He should have stayed on defense.”

“Keep crying, David.”

They both stare at the television above the bar as the player in question swerves around a defensive player and kicks for the goal. The ball flies wide causing cheers to erupt from around the bar and David smile smugly at Greg.

Greg shrugs. “We’ll see.”

David snorts. “Put some money down and we’ll see how relaxed you are then.”

Greg frowns and points at the screen with his pint glass hand. “You have money on this?”

“Not yet.”

“Uh uh.” Greg puts his glass down and picks up some nuts from the bowl between them. “Last time I made a bet with you I was fifty quid lighter.”

“Make better bets then.”

“Except you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Greg throws the nuts in his mouth and chews with an eyebrow raise at David.

“Maybe.” David smiles and takes a drink of his beer. “Maybe I want a chance to root for the underdog.”

Greg glances at the screen then back to David. “Don’t think now’s the time.”

“I can swap sides.”

Greg snorts. “Right.” 

David grabs the lip of the nut bowl with one finger and drags it toward him. “So, how’s Mycroft?”

Greg blinks in surprise and half chokes on his beer. “What?”

David laughs once as he picks out some nuts. “Interesting reaction.”

“How’s Jane?” Greg asks back.

David frowns dropping the nuts. “She called you, did she?”

“If Timothy wants to play the violin, let him play the violin.”

David scoffs. “He only wants to so he can impress a girl.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Playing a musical instrument is always to impress a girl. He is fourteen, Greg, what else is he thinking about?”

“That he likes music?”

“They start instruments in primary, Greg, not now. He’s too late.”

“Taking the hard father line, are you? Is this because he doesn’t want to play rugby? You already had Rory for that. They don’t all need to play it.”

“No, it’s not about that!” David huffs. “Eddie has swimming team. I’m not worried about sports allotment.”

Greg tilts his head and taps his pint glass against his teeth. “You sure? Not hoping for the triple crown?”

David gives Greg a withering look. “I think I can parent by kid three.”

“Hmm…” Greg shrugs.

David takes a drink of his beer and waves his hand. “Look, he can play an instrument, fine but, got to be sure!”

“How are you going to know that until you let him?”

“Exactly.”

Greg frowns. “I’m lost.”

“I have a plan.”

“You should tell Jane that. She spent fifteen minutes calling you a tosser and threatening to divorce you for me or Claire.”

David blinks. “What?”

“Well, something like that, I tried to tune her out a bit when she got into her high voice.”

David snorts and laughs. He shakes his head and takes another drink of his beer. “Ah, I do love my wife.”

“But not the violin.”

“Shut up.” David cocks his head. “And I notice how you dodged the Mycroft question very well. You’re not the only detective in the family, Greg.”

“Actually, I am.”

“So, what’s up?”

Greg drinks some of his beer. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Exactly, nothing.”

David puts his glass down, puts his hands palm together and points at Greg. “You’ve said that twice now, you know?”

“Nothing is up, that’s just it. We’re…” Greg sweeps a hand through the air. “Just coasting in…” He wiggles his fingers, “indecision.”

“Big word use.”

Greg drops his hand, glances at the game, now two to one in favor of David, then sighs. “So, that’s what’s up.”

“If it’s bothering you so much –”

“Did I say that?” Greg interrupts

“Then why are you still after him?” David finishes

“I’m not ‘after him,’ we’re just…”

David picks up his glass and shakes it. “Just… What?”

Greg takes a large gulp of his beer. “I don’t know.”

“You know you’re daft, right?”

“I do.”

“Do you love him?”

Greg frowns and drops his glass back on the table. “What?”

David shrugs. “That has to be why.”

Greg picks up his beer again and takes a sip. “I suppose it does.”

“Suppose.”

Greg sighs and stares down into his nearly empty glass. “What’s the score?”

“Two-one, didn’t you just look at it?”

“It might have changed.” He glances up at David.

David frowns, looks at the television then back down to Greg. “It hasn’t. Though they just got a yellow card.”

Greg glances at the screen to see two linesmen talking in left field while one team huddles together. Greg looks back down and wonders if he could get his old mates back together for some games again. He misses playing real football and not just the occasional back garden kick-about. 

“Greg?” Greg looks at David again. “I think…”

Greg tilts his head. “What?”

David sighs. “I told you to be careful.”

“You did.”

“Are you?”

Greg sits up in his chair and breathes in slowly. “I’m being patient.”

David smiles. “You’re good at that.”

Greg smiles as well. “I have to be and, you know, I said it would take time, didn’t I?”

“You said you were willing to put in time.” David drinks the last of his beer and puts the glass back down on the table. “A lot of time?”

“There’s the rub.”

“Well, I’m going to reserve Mycroft judgment from now on except to say that you can’t wait forever, not now.”

Greg narrows his eyes. “Is that a slight on my age?”

David shakes his head. “It’s a warning.”

Greg thinks about a gold card on his desk, suits lined up in a row, a blanket slipping to the floor, a bowl broken on the kitchen floor, the smell of sunflowers in Italy, then he smiles. “I still have hope.”

David smiles back. “Me too.”

–––––––––

The next time Greg has coffee with Mycroft they both buy espresso. Mycroft’s eyes look a bit red but Greg fears to ask lest he only receive some cryptic reply. Mycroft finishes his espresso in ten minutes then threads his fingers with Greg’s. He stares at their hands and breathes slowly as if he is afraid he will forget how.

“Mycroft?”

He looks up at Greg and smiles once. “I think sometimes I forget how much I enjoy your hands.”

Greg smiles back. “Does that have some double meaning?”

“Not this time.”

Mycroft leaves two minutes later before Greg is halfway through his drink. Greg stares at the empty table, clenches his teeth then breathes in and out slowly for two minutes. He leaves his espresso unfinished.

–––––––––

Greg stands in the entryway just in Mycroft’s front door. Mycroft paces back and forth in front of him, bringing files from his den and putting them onto a sideboard across from Greg. Greg watches him slide in and out of the room, face impassive only because Mycroft is attempting to keep it so.

“It’s not a difficult question, Mycroft.” Mycroft scoffs but keeps moving, this time placing a thumb drive beside the file stack. “It’s only two weeks away. You’ve had to replied by now.”

“I have.”

“And?”

Mycroft stops for a second, one foot in the hall and one in the living room. “Can you not form your own conclusion as to the answer to your question?”

Greg breathes in slowly and puts his hands on his hips. “Well, you can be full of surprises.”

Mycroft scoffs again and moves into the living room. “Perhaps, then, pay more attention.”

Greg grinds his teeth and steps into the hall further so he can see into the living room where Mycroft moves back and forth in front of his shelves and cabinets. “That is not an answer.” Mycroft sighs again. Greg crosses his arms. “The wedding is two weeks away, just tell me if you are going or not.”

Mycroft turns around with a book in his hand. “If you need a direct answer then, no, Greg. I RSVP’d ‘no.’”

“Why?”

Mycroft gives Greg the most incredulous look and shakes his head. “Why?”

“Yes, why?”

“Why, you are asking, would I choose not to attend the wedding of my brother’s partner in crime solving?”

“It is John’s wedding. Sherlock is the best man.”

“And my life does not revolve around Sherlock.”

Greg huffs a laugh. “It doesn’t?”

“And even if that were close to the case, Greg, I am not required to immerse myself in the ritualistic functions Sherlock chooses to involve himself in against both our better judgments.”

“What, you think Sherlock should have said ‘no’ to being best man? That he shouldn’t even go to John’s wedding?” Greg tilts his head. “Aren’t you the one who understands people better than Sherlock?”

Mycroft shakes his head, turns around and puts the book back on a shelf. “I said none of those things. However, I am not bound to his perceived obligations.”

Greg breathes out slowly and rubs a hand across his forehead. “It’s just a wedding, Mycroft, not a torture session.”

Mycroft scoffs as he pulls a sealed manila envelope out of a cabinet and walks toward Greg. “That may depend upon your opinion.”

“Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions, Mycroft!” Greg insists as Mycroft walks past him back out into the hall.

Mycroft puts the envelope on top of his stack on the sideboard. He puts one palm down on the sideboard and the other on his hip as he turns toward Greg. “Weddings may be important and lovely occasions to many people, possibly even the majority, but I am not included in that number. Weddings are byproducts of religion, old traditions and historic attempts at enforcing modesty and monogamy. Marriage in general is an old fashioned institution no longer seriously sacred and in many cases is fleeting.” Mycroft pulls his hand off his hip and waves it up and down to indicate Greg. “Case in point.”

Greg bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “I think you doth protest too much.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Really, Greg.”

“I think you’re just worried about going to an event where you’d feel out of your depth so you’d rather avoid it. It’s not about marriage at all.”

Mycroft’s jaw clenches and he glances at the wall. “Someone like me would certainly not be welcome at such an event.” 

“Then why did John and Mary invite you?”

Mycroft shakes his head. “I’ve already said no, Greg, what is the point in arguing this?”

“You could come with me.”

Mycroft takes a step back in obvious surprise. “What?”

“You could come to the wedding with me,” Greg repeats taking a step forward and holding his hands out.

“I… go with you?”

“I have a plus one. I said yes to a plus one…” Greg clears his throat. “Just in case.”

Mycroft breathes out slowly and taps his finger tips on the sideboard. “Go to the wedding with you?”

“Yes, Mycroft, for the third time. If it bothers you so much you don’t have to come as my date –”

“Your date? Are we back up to that now?”

Greg huffs. “Mycroft, we practically are!”

“It is not the same; I know you are acutely aware of the difference.”

Greg gestures back and forth between them. “But don’t you want to be?”

“I…” Mycroft turns away and sighs, running a hand over his hair.

“Don’t you?” Greg insists.

“Yes! I do.” Mycroft huffs out a breath as he turns back around. “But… but we can’t rush in again.”

“Rush?” Greg waves a hand in the air. “What rush? It’s practically May now, our date disaster was February!”

“Perhaps it feels like a rush to me!”

“It does not.”

Mycroft scoffs harshly. “Yes, because you know!”

Greg holds up his hands. “I’m just asking you!” Greg breathes out once to calm himself down then drops his hands again. “I’m just asking you, all right? I want you to come with me; that’s what I want.”

“Why does it matter so much to you, Greg?”

“It doesn’t! I just –”

“Yes, it does, Greg, or else you would not be trying this hard.” 

“I…” Greg puts his hands on his hips and turns away. He breathes in and out then turns his head back toward Mycroft. “I just want you to come with me.”

Mycroft purses his lips. “Perhaps it is you who is apprehensive about attending this wedding alone.”

“Don’t turn it around on me.”

“Why, because I am right?”

Greg blows a breath out. “Fine, Mycroft, we both have neuroses. Are you happy?”

“No.” Mycroft frowns. “I am not.”

“Why won’t you come with me? Just because it’s a wedding? I’m giving you time. I’m not rushing. You know what I want and I know what you want. So why, Mycroft?”

“I do not need to attend a wedding with you to prove that I still care about you!”

“I didn’t say –”

“It is not something that needs testing!”

“I’m not testing you!”

Mycroft shakes his head then moves again back into the living room. He walks over to the cabinet, pulls out an external hard drive then closes the cabinet again, locking the doors.

“I’m not testing you, Mycroft,” Greg repeats.

Mycroft turns in place and cocks his head. “Aren’t you?” He shrugs his shoulders. “And should you not be? I am the one who has made all the mistakes.”

Greg grits his teeth. “Not all of them.”

Mycroft raises both eyebrows. “Just most?”

“If you’re trying to push me away right now, I’m not moving.”

“Yes, you are.” Mycroft walks forward again, past Greg and puts the hard drive on top of the pile of files on the sideboard. He picks up the flash drive, puts it in his pocket then picks up the whole pile. “You are moving because I am leaving.”

“Mycroft, you haven’t answered –”

“Yes, I have, Greg.” Mycroft steps closer and breathes out once. “I understand your position but you must understand mine. This is not a step I need nor do we need. A wedding is not something which always brings people together.”

Greg frowns. “Are you saying it would push us apart? Because you’re working on that right now.”

“Figure it out, Greg. I assure you, you would like me less if I came with you,” Mycroft says as he walks around Greg toward the front door.

“It is just a bloody wedding!” Greg snaps as he turns as well.

Mycroft sighs with one hand on the door. He opens it then turns back to Greg. “Please, Greg, it would not be a benefit if I attended.”

“To whom?”

“Everyone.”

Greg clicks his tongue. “Right.” He walks forward and stands beside Mycroft in the doorway. “Fine. Don’t come.” Greg glances out at the street. “I know I’m pushing you.”

“Don’t make it into a symbol, Greg,” Mycroft says quietly.

Greg shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Mycroft steps out the door and Greg follows him, the two of them sharing the stoop. Mycroft closes the door with his free hand and Greg hears it lock. They walk down the steps, a car waiting for Mycroft at the kerb.

Mycroft stops just next to the car and looks up at Greg. “I am sorry.”

Greg shakes his head and smiles in a thin line. “I know.”

–––––––––

“We have it!”

Greg jerks in surprise at Donovan and Bell suddenly bursting into his doorway. He breathes in slowly and clears his throat. “You have what?”

“Have what? Walters!” Bell insists.

Donovan knocks Bell on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Calm, Mari.”

“It was his idea to begin with.”

Donovan frowns. “I think it was mine.”

“A team effort then.”

“I’ll take that.”

Greg points with his pen. “The hacking?”

Donovan and Bell smile together. “The hacking.”

Greg stands up and follows Bell and Donovan out of his office. They walk around a few desks until they stop at Bell’s. She sits down and begins to type on her computer.

“So, we identified their hack, Cooper helped to isolate the pattern and how it disguises itself in the system. We can watch for it and set up our own tracer to send us a warning about it.”

“Perfect.” Greg nods at the screen. “I’ve got a tracker we can use, just needed the program to look for.” Greg pats Bell’s shoulder. “Which now we have.”

Donovan raises her eyebrows. “Have you been taking night classes in computing or something?”

“Clipton and Gupta did help.”

“By doing it?”

Greg rolls his eyes. “We all grow and learn, Sally. Fortunately, Gupta can do programing.”

“So, tracer and hack code acquired.” Bell turns and smiles at them. “Now we just need to wait for them to strike.”

“Actually we first need to get the program sent to all the banks in London which have yet to be hit by the Walters. They need the tracer program connected to their security.” Greg stands up straight again. “Donovan, I’d like you on point to coordinate that. Have Cooper, Gupta and whomever they choose from IT to be on the ground. I want to keep it quiet.”

“We’re not hacked as well do you think?” Bell asks, glancing at Donovan.

Donovan bites the edge of her lip. “Can’t be too careful. Better we keep the tracker on need to know.” She turns to Greg. “Yes?”

Greg nods. “You two, Gupta, Cooper and their team all right? That’s enough already.”

“Clipton and Banks?” Bell asks.

“We can trust them,” Donovan adds.

“I know but the less bodies the better. They already know we were planning one anyway. You can apologize for me later, Bell.”

She frowns. “Trying to get me in hot water?”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Am I?”

“Sir?”

Greg turns around to see Bradford. “Yes?”

“Got something I think you’ll want to see.”

Ten minutes later Greg stands in front of the scowling desk sergeant downstairs. “Look, drunk and disorderly is nothing compared to what the two of them have given back to us. Not to mention the flat wasn’t even really occupied now, yeah?”

“The super wasn’t completely sure on that,” the desk sergeant says with a tap of his finger on the booking sheet.

Greg gives him a look. “Isn’t it? Sounds more like maybe he’s holding out for lost rent. Now, those two didn’t cause any damage –”

“Holmes vomited on the carpet.”

Greg bites the inside of his cheek hard to keep from laughing straight out. “Apart from that, all they did was what they usually do, except with alcohol.”

“Sir, they were –”

“Stevenson,” Greg interrupts with a quick glance at the man’s tag, “they caused no real harm and even ‘under the influence’ they still cared about the same job we care about, right? Helping the public, solving crimes…”

Stevenson’s face starts to soften and he nods at Greg’s words, brushing a hand over his walrus–like mustache.

“Not to mention, it was Watson’s stag night.”

At that Stevenson smiles and chuckles once. “Not exactly how my stag went.”

Greg nods. “Cut them a break, yeah? I’ll take charge of them, clear the booking, straighten it with the building owner, all right?”

Stevenson glances at the sheet in front of him, worries his lip between his teeth then ticks his eyes up to Greg again. Greg pulls his most winning Detective Inspector smile out. Stevenson nods and picks up the paper, holding it out to Greg.

“All yours, sir.”

Greg takes the pieces of paper with a nod. Stevenson waves a hand at one of his PC’s who leads Greg down the corridor. Greg glances down at the sheet as he walks, the word ‘inebriated’ written four times for various reasons and the time stamped as eleven–forty–five. Greg snorts to himself and shakes his head. He folds up the booking sheet and puts it in his jacket pocket as the PC opens up one cell door. Greg nods at him then steps into the door way to see Sherlock asleep on the bench and John dozing in a seated position on the floor.

Greg smiles. “Wakey wakey!”

John groans and turns toward him, blinking in the daylight. “Oh my god. Greg? Is that Greg?”

Greg smiles more. “Get up. I’m going to put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” Greg laughs as John stands up slowly. “What a couple of light weights. You couldn’t even make it to closing time.”

John holds up a hand. “Can you whisper?”

“Not really!” Greg shouts in John’s ear.

Sherlock jolts awake on the cot, flinging his arms but not falling off. Greg chuckles to himself and moves aside so John can walk past him. 

“Come on,” he says to Sherlock as Sherlock manages to sit up.

Greg steps back out into the hall where John leans against the wall beside the cell door, eyes scrunched shut.

“Don’t know if you want to chalk that up as a good or bad stag night, eh?”

John only groans as Sherlock finally wobbles out of the cell. Greg snorts and claps Sherlock on the shoulder hard. “Good morning, sunshine, shall we send you home?”

“Good God, Lestrade,” Sherlock groans.

Greg smiles and sighs. “Ah, so good to have you back, isn’t it?” John groans quietly. Greg claps his hands together once loudly so Sherlock and John both jerk. “Come on then, taxi.”

Greg puts John and Sherlock in a cab five minutes later, Sherlock insisting on Baker Street and John already appearing to doze off again once he is in the car seat. Greg slips the driver ten pound just in case either of the two are light. Once the cab pulls away from the kerb, Greg’s mobile vibrates with a text:

_Mycroft [09:54] Thank you for attending to Sherlock this morning._

Greg frowns. He drops his hand and glances around wondering which CCTV camera is pointed his way or if one of the booking PCs is actually an MI6 agent or something equally shady. Greg pulls up his mobile again and texts back.

_[09:54] John as well. Rough night._

Greg sighs and thinks about having a cigarette. It would be better to go buy some nicotine patches. He needs to quit. He should find out if Claire really has or not. They always do better when they quit together.

Greg’s mobile vibrates again.

_Mycroft [09:55] An evening spent in a police cell would usually be termed a ‘rough night.’_

Greg clicks his teeth then shakes his head. He types fast.

_[09:55] Did you really text me just for this, Mycroft?_

He waits, mobile in his hand and standing still next to the street. A pair of PCs walk by him with hats on, clearly back from a walking patrol. They nod at him as they head toward the building behind him and Greg nods back. Greg breathes in and out slowly, stares at the screen of his mobile as it goes dark. After another minute he drops his arm and taps the mobile against his thigh. He thinks about calling Mycroft, thinks about coffee, thinks about a wedding and dancing and Mycroft sitting right beside him.

Greg's mobile vibrates and he looks down at it, a text on the screen.

_Mycroft [09:57] I do not know._

Greg shakes his head and breathes in slowly through his nose. He stares across the street but does not text back. Instead he turns around and walks swiftly back into Scotland Yard.

–––––––––

Greg stands outside with a cigarette in his hand, a bit away from the pleasant grass of the venue, down by the road leading out. Inside the dancing has since resumed after Sherlock's violin waltz for the couple's first married dance. Greg flicks ash off the end of this cigarette then brings it back to his lips.

"I'll quit later," Greg mutters to himself. "Promise."

Greg wonders absently what it would have been like if Sherlock has chosen the violin instead to pour his great mind into. Would he be a famous soloist? Would he be the concert master of the London Symphony Orchestra? Would he be a conductor by now? Would he be new age composer, pitting modes against majors and finishing on minor chords with rhythmic patterns to baffle the most seasoned percussionists? Would he be alone in a house in the country playing only to bees in the backyard with the rest of civilization left behind, just the notes flowing in his head?

"All of them probably," Greg mutters to himself.

Greg takes a drag of his cigarette and remembers the first wedding he went to with Anne after they were married. It was about a year after, 1999 then. He and Anne married a bit later than most of his friends as well as David and Claire; him thirty–five and Anne just a bit younger. The wedding was in summer, June probably since that was the 'thing' then and still is half the time. White for the bride and gray suits for the men; there was an abundance of purple, he remembers that. The thing that stands out most to him about that wedding through the haze of time, however, was the first dance. The dance was a waltz just like tonight, quiet, slow, classic and ultimately beautiful. The waltz was played by a trio, violin, viola and cello. The bride stumbled once when they danced and the groom kept on a tight smile, like he was afraid if he let her go she might disappear. Greg figured, at the time, the groom was counting steps in his head – forward one, left one, right one, back one, and again – as they moved to the strings. Anne looked at him then – silver dress and pearls around her neck, the music around them and candle light in wide hall – and Greg remembers thinking he would love her forever.

Greg maybe understands why Mycroft did not want to come to the wedding.

Greg blows out smoke and scowls at the air. "Wasn't the point though," he grumbles and flicks ash off the end.

He hears the muffled music change back in the hall, some recent song that Greg is fairly sure he recognizes but it can be hard to tell these days. Middle age hits everyone and you start to fall off the 'in the know' crowd. Or perhaps Greg just prefers better music. 

He takes another drag of his cigarette then blows out a slow line of smoke. Then a hand suddenly plucks the cigarette out of his hand so Greg nearly jumps into the air with surprise. He turns to see Sherlock beside him taking a long drag of Greg's cigarette. 

Greg breathes out slowly and shakes his head. "Jesus, Sherlock, scared me half to death."

"You seem much alive still."

Greg frowns but does not belabor the point. "What are you doing out here? And why the coat, not cold, you know?"

Sherlock purses his lips and keep staring at the road. "I wanted a smoke."

"So you took mine?"

"It was already lit."

"Don't you have some of your own?"

"Perhaps not in this coat."

Greg frowns again. "So you went out for a smoke without cigarettes?"

"I knew you would be out here."

Greg narrows his eyes. "Really?"

Sherlock does not answer this time, only smokes some more of Greg's cigarette, close to the filter now. Greg chews the edge of his lip, looks Sherlock up and down then gasps. Sherlock turns to him with a frown.

"You're leaving." Sherlock's lips tighten then he turns away again. Greg huffs once. "You've leaving John's wedding?" He glances back at building briefly. "Now?"

"My role is completed; there is no further need for my presence."

"No need?"

"I've done my duty as best man!" Sherlock snaps and takes another quick drag of the cigarette.

"You know," Greg says gently, "the best man usually stays until the end."

Sherlock breathes in swiftly and shakes his head once. "Not this one."

"Mine did."

Sherlock turns his head sharply. "Did he? Did he stay?" Sherlock cocks his head. "Until the very end?"

Greg frowns in confusion for one minute then he notices the look on Sherlock's face. He clears his throat and looks away. "Well, my best man was my brother." Greg looks back at Sherlock with a small shrug.

Sherlock stares at Greg for two beats as if the idea of Greg having a brother is completely foreign. Then he breathes in and clicks his tongue. "Yes, well, I imagine you and I have very different sorts of brothers."

Greg huffs once and smiles. "Got that right."

"And what about you?" Sherlock cocks his head, flicks ash off the cigarette, and looks intently at Greg. "Certainly not out here for just a smoke break, not so long as this at least with such festivities to miss?"

Greg clears his throat. "Well, no one for me to dance with really any way."

"Not the one you want, you mean." It is not a question.

Greg crosses his arms and sighs. "You know him, wouldn't listen to me about coming."

Sherlock laughs once with little humor and smokes some more. "Yes, I tried as well but to a man who thinks the proper mode of life is to deny one's self personal enjoyment, I think it hardly likely either of us could have prevailed."

Greg glares at Sherlock. "He's not always like that."

"Ah, yes, because you know him so much better."

"Sherlock –"

"Relax, Lestrade, you can continue to hold out hope on my brother." Sherlock shrugs. "I will admit it is surprising enough that he has retained an interest in you this long so as to be possibly promising."

"Really?" Greg asks quietly though he does not mean to.

Sherlock makes a face. "And yet you have doubt."

"Well, shouldn't I?" Greg snaps, now wishing Sherlock had just passed Greg by on his escape from the wedding.

Sherlock purses his lips. "He did come out of his shell for you once, perhaps he will again."

"Perhaps he already has."

Sherlock purses his lips in an incredulous way then looks away back out over the road. "Then perhaps you should ensure he does not crawl right back in."

"I'm trying," Greg says through clenched teeth.

Sherlock turns back to Greg, his face twisted around as though he is going to say another of his cutting, sarcastic replies. Then his eyes tick to the building behind them, a slow song playing. He looks back to Greg and presses his lips together in a tight line. 

"Good luck," is all he says. 

Then he drops the cigarette onto the stone path and grinds it underfoot. Sherlock turns away again and walks down the path along the park road out toward the main street. Greg watches him for a moment, glances at the building with a wedding inside then back to the receding shape of the iconic coat.

Greg pulls his mobile out of his pocket and clicks the screen to life. He has a text from David asking how the wedding went but nothing else. (That, at least, will be an interesting story for David and Claire to hear). Greg clicks into dial and chooses Mycroft's number. The phone rings five times before it clicks over into voicemail.

Greg opens his mouth then sighs heavily. "I have tried, Mycroft. I have tried being patient for you; I’ve given you months more because I know how hard this is for you; because I know how you feel even if you’re afraid. But you need to make up your mind, Mycroft, because I am too old to go back and forth like this. Please. It’s up to you."

Greg drops his hand, clicks end on the screen then watches the empty road, the sounds of dancing and music and happiness at his back.

–––––––––

“It’s after two o’clock, have time for a coffee with an inspector of the yard?”

“One in particular?”

Greg smiles. “Was thinking of a certain one.”

“Hmm, I was planning to go to the Diogenes…”

“But you like the sound of coffee before that?”

Mycroft chuckles once quietly. “Certainly.”

Greg smiles and clicks the pen in his hand. “Good. Ten minutes?”

“Shall we say three instead?”

Greg glances at the clock on his laptop and tries to remember his schedule. Does he have a meeting? Hopefully not. “Sure.”

“Until then.” And the line clicks off.

Greg frowns at the quick hang up but only places his mobile down on his desk. He flips over a piece of paper and turns back to his laptop. He has some paper work to fill out after a criminal chase last week left some bystander property in disrepair, by which he means trashed. Greg knows he kicked over something when he was running and Banks definitely smashed into a shop door made of glass. Sometimes Greg wonders how many hours of his life have been taken up with filling out paperwork already.

“Sir?”

Greg glances up from his laptop keys to see Avery, Matthews and Brooks in his doorway. Greg raises both eyebrows. Avery steps in and clears his throat. He glances at Brooks and Matthews behind him. Brooks looks away and shakes her head but Matthews only crosses his arms with a glare.

“Sir, we have a problem.”

Greg puts his pen down. “What kind of problem?”

“A multifaceted one,” Brooks mutters.

Avery and Matthews both shoot her a look. She only shrugs. Matthew nudges her in the back so she steps into the office. Matthews steps in as well then closes Greg’s door behind him. 

Greg sits up straighter. “What is it?”

“Internal affairs,” Avery says, brushing a hand through his red hair.

Greg sighs heavily. “Shite.”

“It’s Davis,” Brooks says.

“Hailey!” Matthew snaps.

“I don’t care what you think,” Brooks snaps back. “It’s a traitor in our midst.”

“She’s only doing her job.”

“Spying!” Brooks insists.

“Davis?” Greg frowns. “She’s only partial time to our department what with the Walters court case.”

Brooks raises her eyebrows. “Exactly.”

Matthews sighs and grips his arms. “That’s not the point!”

“The point is,” Avery chimes in, looking only at Greg, “that she has a case against me.”

Greg frowns in surprise. “Does she?”

Avery’s hand brushes against the insignia on his uniform, what appears to be unconsciously. Then he breathes in deeply. “My brother was brought in on a drug charge a month ago and I altered the evidence against him. I changed the computer records and changed his drug test so he would get away with only an ASBO.” Avery clears his throat. “I, uh… I didn’t want him to… I mean…”

Greg clenches his teeth. “We understand your reasons, Michael.”

“I know it has nothing to do with the department. It is my problem, my fault. I am only telling you because –”

“Because I told you to,” Matthews growls.”

“Fuck off, Manchester!” Brooks snaps.

“Oi, you’re the one who stayed quiet for him, eh?” Matthews points sharply at her. “Should have charges against you too!”

“Wouldn’t you like that?” She holds out her hands to indicate herself. “Woman too high up for your liking?”

Matthews’ mouth drops open. “That has nothing –”

“Oh, I bet not, just –”

“Stop!” Greg snaps as he stands up from his chair. “Right now!” He slices his hand through the air. “We have one problem here, don’t you two make another!”

Brooks and Matthews shut their mouths, glancing at each other with venom before turning back to Greg. Avery stands between, arms at his side, nearly at attention he stands so stiffly. Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. He stares at Avery – this tall gangly kid, young, loyal, and hard working as any on Greg’s team.

“I had to tell you, sir,” Avery says before Greg can speak again. “I don’t want any of this to come to you. You are always there for us and this is all on me.”

Maybe not such a kid after all. 

“I understand, Avery, but we’re going to get you out of this.”

“Sir!” Matthew insists with surprise. “You can’t just –”

“I’m not saying we’re going to let you off,” Greg amends with a look at Matthews. “But might be we can avoid internal affairs, yeah?”

Avery’s chest eases slightly but his jaw stays tight. “How’s that sir?”

Greg frowns and shakes his head. “We’ll think of something. For now,” Greg says louder before Matthews can counter, “this stays between the four of us, clear?”

“Sir…” Matthew starts.

“Am I clear?”

Matthew’s mouth shuts.

“Avery, has Davis called you to internal affairs or made any inquiries to you outright?”

“Not yet. I think she only knows a little about what… what I did.”

“She’ll find out more,” Brooks says softly.

“If they haven’t charged you yet we still have time, all right?” Greg says with a pointed look at Avery. Avery nods. “Let me know if you hear anything and I will look into how I can help. Brooks?” She stands up straighter. “You keep an eye on Davis for me. Anything, all right?”

Brooks grins and brushes a stray brown hair back up into her bun. “I can do that.”

“Matthews.” His eyes ticks to Greg, jaw still tight and angry. “I’m not asking you to bury this. I am only asking you to wait, all right?” Matthews just nods once. “Good.” Greg looks at all of them. “Dismissed.”

The three officers file out of his office in a line, Avery closing Greg’s door as he leaves. Greg sits down heavily in his chair and rubs a hand over his face again. He needs to look up the record on Avery’s brother, find out what the original change was and just how much Avery changed. It is possible they could go through their own department and give Avery some sort of suspension without pay perhaps. Internal review could cost Avery a lot more and Greg would spare him that if possible.

Greg really wants to see Mycroft.

He picks up his mobile off his desk and sends a quick text:

_[14:30] Any chance you can move up that coffee date? Need a break from this office now._

Greg closes his eyes and lists out options for Avery in his head. He does not protect crooked coppers but he also does not want a good copper who only wished to help his brother to be sent through the ringer. Greg’s mobile vibrates and he opens his eyes.

_Mycroft [14:31] Unfortunately, it appears I must cancel our coffee meeting._

Greg blinks three times. “Are you bloody kidding me?”

He clicks the call icon in the text window and puts the mobile to his ear. The phone rings five times then beeps as it changes over to voicemail. Greg hangs up then clicks call again. It rings five more times until the voicemail connects again. Greg huffs loudly and hangs up. He switches over into text and types quickly.

_[14:32] Answer me, Mycroft. What’s really changed in fifteen minutes?_

He smacks his mobile down onto his desk as he presses send and grinds his teeth.

“Boss?” Donovan says as she opens his door.

“Not now!” Greg barks.

Donovan pulls back quickly and shuts the door in one motion. Greg frowns deeply and glares at the doorway as if Mycroft might walk through so Greg may solidly punch him in the face. He shakes his head hard then turns to his laptop. He starts to type quickly, filling in data boxes of the damage report form. He fills in officers involved, any injuries, list of property damage and businesses affected by police action. He hits the keys like he might punch them right through, like if he slows down something will catch him. Greg breathes out sharply as he adds a period to a sentence. He suddenly stops typing and pulls his hands away. He props his one elbow up on his desk and presses three fingers against his hair line.

“Bloody ridiculous,” Greg mutters. “I’m asking for fifteen damn minutes.” He glances at his mobile and frowns. “You said slow not stop.” He drops his hand. “Isn’t this slow enough?”

Greg breathes in and out, in and out. He picks up his mobile, no text back from Mycroft. He types out a text of his own instead.

_[14:45] You are almost fifty, Mycroft. Can’t you get over yourself yet?_

Maybe he is acting irrational; maybe he is projecting; maybe it was just coffee; maybe Mycroft did have a real reason to cancel; but maybe Greg does not care.

–––––––––

Greg sits on the back porch at Claire’s house. The remains of dinner still scatter the table while Jane and David’s three sons play a simplified game of football in the grass, Timothy and Rory on one team against Jane and Edward on the other. Greg thinks the score is one to one but he has not been paying a hundred percent attention.

Kate runs out on to the deck again from inside next to Greg. “Yellow card against Croatia!”

David scoffs. “For what?”

Kate beams like she knows she will receive an A on this test. “Shoulder grab!”

Greg chuckles and turns to David sitting beside him. “Uh oh, David, going to lose that twenty quid.”

“Brazil might not make the free kick.”

Claire snorts from around David’s other side. “They will.”

“I’ll see!” Kate runs back inside.

Greg and David glance at Claire at the same time. She smiles and shrugs. “I teach my children well.”

“Keep the mother informed about the World Cup?” David asks with a frown.

“Yes, that specific direction, David.”

A whoop sounds from the game play in the grass in front of them and Greg turns to see the football rolling against the fence on Jane’s side of the ‘playing field.’

“That two to one now?” Greg asks.

“Yes?” David replies.

Claire laughs and stabs a cooling sliver of chicken on a plate near her. “Yes, it is. Good job, Greg, at paying more attention to David’s family than he does.”

David rolls his eyes. “Do you want me to listen to you two or watch their game? I can’t do both.”

“No?” Greg says just as Claire scoffs, “we’re not talking about anything.”

David sits up straight and picks up his glass of water from the table. “That reminds me, do we have cake?”

“You were supposed to bring it!” Claire hisses as if Greg cannot hear her.

David grins slowly making Claire sigh with frustration. He takes a big gulp of his water and puts it back on the table.

“Is this how you say you’re going to go get it now?” Claire asks.

David raises his eyebrows and turns to Greg. “You want to blow out some candles?”

Greg frowns. “Do there have to be candles?”

Claire giggles and puts a hand over her mouth. 

David shrugs with a wry expression. “Well, its belated birthday already, you can wait a bit if you wish.”

“Until the game stops?” Claire asks.

“Which one?” Greg and David say together.

“They made the kick!”

The three siblings turn to see Kate back again from inside the house. David frowns and slouches back in his chair, picking absently at a loose thread on his pale blue jumper. 

Claire smiles and nods at Kate. “Thank you, sweetie, tell your dad we’ll be twenty pounds richer soon.”

Kate grins back at her mother then turns around into the house again. 

David turns his head to Claire. “There is plenty of game left.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming, Lestrade.”

“I will, Lestrade.”

“Can you hand me a beer?” Greg interrupts at the same time Rory shouts what sounds like ‘fuck’ and Jane snaps back with ‘language!’

David glances at the field as Rory starts on a rant about how he is an ‘adult’ and Edward keeps pleading for them to ‘just play the game.’ David sighs then scoots his chair forward so he can grab a beer off the table. He slides back again and hands it to Greg. Greg takes the beer, watching the drama until Timothy sighs with all the weight of a fourteen year old, says ‘bugger all, let’s just play’ and the game resumes.

“Your family is interesting, David,” Greg comments.

“Well, you are in it,” David counters.

“Touché,” Claire finishes.

“So!” David gasps as he steals Greg’s beer. “How is your slow and steady going?”

“Do you just sit around your house and think up clever ways to ask me about my love life?”

David takes a sip of Greg’s beer. “I consider it a calling.”

Claire scoffs then grins.

“So, how is it?” David asks again.

Greg takes his beer back from David and frowns. “It is.”

“It is?” David and Claire repeat.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Greg snaps, shooting a look at the two of them. “Always asking about my relationships, being my fucking therapist because you both know so much?”

David and Claire glance at each other, then David snatches the beer back from Greg before he can take a drink. David takes a big gulp then hands it back. “Well, Claire and I are both still married.”

Greg frowns. “Ow.”

“You snapped at us,” Claire grumps.

“Sorry,” Greg mumbles.

“So, not well then?” David asks though it is not really a question.

Greg sighs and unbuttons the second button of his shirt. “It’s… I don’t know. It’s slow.”

“You said it was going to be.” David shrugs. “Wasn’t that part of the point?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well what then?”

“He’s just…” Greg looks out at the backyard. Jane leaning over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath as her sons kick the football around aimlessly. “It’s back and forth. We talk, we have coffee, it’s good and then he cancels, won’t come to the wedding with me.”

“Wedding?” Claire says.

“He pulls back,” Greg continues, “it’s all so on again, off again. It’s so…” Greg groans. “Stereotypical.”

“Everyone’s relationship is stereotypical in some way, Greg.” Claire leans forward and picks up a crisp off one plate. “All been done before.”

“But we’re not even in a relationship right now.” Greg waves his fingers in the air. “We’re taking it slow.”

“That was your idea,” Claire points out.

“It… well…” Greg leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“We give people we love more chances,” David says quietly. Greg looks over at him at the same time David turns toward him. “We give them more chances than maybe they deserve but it’s because it matters so much more.”

Greg breathes in slowly and clenches his jaw. “Maybe he needs to give me more chances too.”

David smiles. “Ah, if only life were fair.”

Claire huffs at the same time Greg does.

“Mum!” John suddenly screeches from inside the house. 

Claire jerks in surprise and jumps to her feet. Greg and David flash her matching looks of confusion as she skirts around them and into the house. They watch the door for a minute in case someone should be running to dial an ambulance but no further screams erupt. Greg turns back to David and takes a drink of their now shared beer.

“Why’s he doing this, David, eh?”

“I don’t know, maybe he actually is trying to push you away before you two get back into it?” David swirls his finger around in the air. “For real that is.”

Greg huffs. “He’s doing a good job.”

David shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time to give up, Greg. Had enough chances?”

Greg sighs and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “God, I don’t know.” He drops his hand. “I know this isn’t because he doesn’t care about me, it’s not that.”

David frowns. “Then what is it?”

Greg sighs. “I’m not sure. I don’t think he trusts relationships and feelings. Obviously he’s tried but…”

“Sounds like the same old closed–off–can’t–be–vulnerable thing.”

Greg laughs once. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“That, or he wants to protect you.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“From him.”

Greg purses his lips. “Wouldn’t put that past him.”

“What are you going to do?” 

Greg watches his family in the grass, Jane running after the ball when it flies ‘foul,’ Rory ruffling Timothy’s hair, dirt on Edward’s knees. He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.” He looks at David. "Don't know how much longer I can take this."

“Well!” David and Greg turn to Claire as she steps back onto the porch. “It seems in trying to add candles to your cake Colin and Kate dropped it on the kitchen floor.”

David bursts out a laugh. “Happy birthday, Greg.” He laughs again. “No blowing out candles after all!”

“And no cake to eat.” Claire raises her eyebrows at David and he stops laughing.

Greg smiles at them both. “Don’t worry, I’ve had enough cake in my life by fifty–one.”

“Never enough cake,” Claire and David reply together causing all three of them to laugh.

–––––––––

Greg calls Mycroft to have lunch – they can do better than coffee, then canceling, then texts by now, can’t they? 

“Lunch? Please?”

But Mycroft only says, “I am sorry, Greg, perhaps another time. Work does get in the way."

Greg hangs up and drops his mobile on his desk. He stares at the papers, at his keyboard, at the dark screen of his mobile. Greg picks up his coffee mug then throws it across his office so the half cold coffee splatters over his blinds and the mug breaks into three pieces on the floor.

–––––––––

Greg bursts through Mycroft’s office door holding his mobile. “I’m here.”

“I can see that,” Mycroft says as he types on his laptop. “We have limited time before Sherlock is bound to reopen his wounds and risk death.” Mycroft sighs. “Yet again.”

“You all right?”

Mycroft jerks his head up at Greg and frowns. “Greg, let us stick to the matter at hand.”

“Finding Sherlock?”

“Yes, finding Sherlock.”

“Are you sure you’re –”

“Please, Greg, I need none of your concern just now!”

Greg frowns and clicks his teeth together, one hand fisting. “Of course.” Greg clicks into his google drive on his mobile. “So, Sherlock has three main bolt holes, yeah? Parlia –”

“Five known bolt holes,” Mycroft interrupts. “It’s the blind green house in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampton Cemetery.”

Greg folds his hands, waits for something more, then Mycroft glances up and makes a shooing motion with one hand. Greg blinks and has to stop himself from cursing.

“Any you think we should check first?” Greg says, holding back the rise of anger in his chest.

Mycroft sighs and waves a hand toward the door. “All of them, Greg!”

Greg grits his teeth together but tries to stay calm. “Fine, all five.” He cocks his head crosses his arms. “Can’t be sure he’ll go somewhere you know about though, will he?”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Not a problem, Greg, as he is unaware I know about them.”

Greg frowns. “How can you know that he doesn’t know?”

“Dear God, sometimes just listening to you speak must cost me brain cells.” Mycroft mutters then looks up at Greg. “Just skip your thought process and follow mine. Help me find Sherlock.”

Greg stares at Mycroft, teeth so tight they might break. “That’s it?”

“What more do you want?”

Greg glares and shifts his weight forward as he speaks, waving a hand out between them. “Mycroft, you’ve canceled on me about half a dozen times in the last month, I’ve barely seen you in weeks, after you agreed to keep trying, even if it’s slow, and now you call me suddenly to help you find your brother again, so –”

“Greg!” Mycroft groans then huffs heavily again. “I think you can tell that finding Sherlock is of paramount importance at this moment, more than anything else you might wish to discuss!” He raises both eyebrows. “Another time, Yes?”

Greg laughs harshly. “Right. Yes, of course, I can certainly see that.”

“Good, Greg.” Mycroft sighs again, hitting the keys on his computer hard. “My brother is showing his idiotic side right now and I’d rather he not attempt to bleed out after the first attempt by whomever it was failed.”

“Are you done?” Greg snaps.

Mycroft glances at Greg and cocks his head. “Please, do not pull out your dramatics now. We need to find Sherlock.” Then he turns back to his computer.

Greg turns on his heel and marches to the door. He is so angry his jaw aches from biting his teeth together and he might be bleeding from his nails digging into his palms. Greg grabs the door handle and opens the door. He takes one step out then shifts back onto his heel and swings around. “You know what, I’ll help you find Sherlock, of course, but after that...” Greg shakes his head and waves a hand. “I’m done. This is it.”

Mycroft sighs and pulls his eyes away from his computer. “Greg, really, is now the time for –”

“Oh, it’s the perfect time.” Greg takes one step back into Mycroft’s office. “After this do not call me anymore.”

Mycroft’s face shifts. “Greg, there is no need to –”

“You do not tell me what I need!” Greg snaps.

Mycroft’s mouth shuts and his jaw clenches but he does not say anything back.

“I’ve had enough! I’ve had enough of this back and forth, this waiting around, this calling and canceling, this happy then not, on and off again, this how badly you want to hang on to me then you just pull away, this alternating between close then fucking callous and condescending. Just tired of waiting!”

"Greg, I –"

"No, no! I was an idiot, a bloody idiot to think that we could start over. That I could resurrect the part of you that sent me those presents, that tried so hard, that thought you could be a better person who let themselves fucking feel something and live life outside of this damn office, outside of your pride and supposed obligations." Greg waves a hand in the air. “A bloody idiot for being fucking patient with you hoping that you just needed time when really you are so fucking afraid of being anything other than closed off and alone. Then fucking fine, be it!”

Mycroft breathes in sharply and stands up from his chair. “Greg, you don’t understand!”

Greg laughs harsh and loud. “Oh! I understand fucking plenty!”

“You are being rash!”

“Rash?” Greg scoffs. 

“Greg, please –”

“Do not ‘please’ me now!” Greg shouts. “If you can’t make up your mind then I am making it up for you!” Greg breathes in a shallow breath and holds up a hand. “I do not want to see you again. Ever.”

Mycroft stares at Greg, his face nearly blank but for the intense shock. “Greg…”

“Ever,” Greg repeats.

Mycroft takes one step backward and his hand latches onto the top of his chair but he says nothing as he just stares at Greg. Greg feels himself shaking so he turns on his heel again and walks out the door to go find Sherlock. Behind him, Greg hears something smash on the floor in Mycroft’s office. Greg feels tears in his eyes, a tremor in his hands but he does not turn back.


	3. Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It takes three weeks of silence before Mycroft calls Greg..._
> 
> _The screen reads ‘Mycroft’ and instantly Greg's teeth clench tightly together._
> 
> _The mobile buzzes a third time, then a fourth and Greg presses ‘end.’ He puts the mobile down and turns back to his laptop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you have not seen by now, I did some casting: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the).
> 
> Also, SPOILER WARNING:
> 
> ....
> 
>  
> 
> .....
> 
> So, I know I don't usually write sex (at least not more than passing mention) but this time I went over into explicit rating category! So.... if that's not your bag then you'll know when to rush to the end.
> 
> Also, I apologize for any inconsistencies in proper police funerals.

Greg stands beside Sherlock’s hospital bed, the morphine drip up to the highest possible setting. Greg wonders at the morality of giving a recovered drug addict – if that is actually the case – his own personal access point. Then again, Sherlock was shot. Sherlock’s eyes are closed, breath even and his hands flat against the sheets over his midsection. Greg chews the edge of his lip for a moment then glances behind himself to look for a chair.

“What do you want, Lestrade?”

Greg tenses slightly then turns back to Sherlock. “So, you’re awake then?”

“Were you really going to wait?” Sherlock asks without opening his eyes.

“For a bit.”

“Should I be touched or concerned?”

Greg sighs. “Feel how you want, Sherlock. You’re the one who was shot.”

“Indeed.”

“So, you should know why I’m here.”

“You desire details?”

“Someone shot you, Sherlock, and you saw who it was. Not to mention you escaped from hospital to do…” Greg waves a hand in the air, “Whatever you did.”

Sherlock snorts with derision then hisses quietly with pain. He breathes slowly for a few seconds then opens his eyes. “You've asked me all this before, repeatedly; do you recall my answers?”

Greg frowns. “Lying here in pain hasn’t changed your mind at all?” He cocks his head. “Don’t you want us to catch who shot you? Since I doubt that’s what you did when you ran off before.”

Sherlock turns his head away. “Think what you will, Lestrade.”

Greg sighs heavily. “You really not going to tell me who shot you?”

“All is forgiven.”

“That the morphine talking?”

Greg sees Sherlock’s eyes tick to the drip. “It’s an aid.”

“Who are you protecting, eh?” Greg crosses his arms. “I can’t get a word out of John, nothing out of you. If I didn’t know better I’d say John had shot you the way you’re acting.”

Sherlock scoffs. “Hardly.”

Greg nods. “True. He’d have gone for the head if that was the way of it.”

Sherlock laughs once in a surprised way then groans quietly in pain. He turns back to Greg and smiles just a little. “Do not let it bother you, Greg, I will recover and no one else will be hurt by the shooter. I can guarantee that.” Sherlock purses his lips. "No one that doesn't deserve it."

Greg frowns and uncrosses his arms. “You got my name right.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Greg?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock purses his lips. “I was guessing.”

Greg huffs into a sigh. “Right.” He watches Sherlock – Sherlock’s eyes elsewhere and his mind already moving into something quite beyond Greg. “Sherlock.” Sherlock’s eyes refocus on Greg. “You are going to have to tell me who shot you eventually.”

“I’m not filing charges. You have no case you need to worry about.”

“Sherlock!”

“Lestrade!” Sherlock snaps back, his jaw tight against the pain in his chest. “You are wasting time which I could be using for more productive thinking and I would imagine your own valuable police time.” He turns away again. “Go solve a break in and do leave me in peace. Or force my brother to enjoy life for a change.”

Greg glances at the wall and clenches his teeth. “Suit yourself.” Then he turns around and walks out of the hospital room.

Greg walks down the hall, stops at the lifts for only a second then keeps on going and takes the stairs back down to the lobby. As he heads for the front doors, he sees Mary walking toward him. He smiles and stops when she reaches him.

“Greg.” She smiles and crosses her arms over her scrubs. “Come to see Sherlock?”

“Just did.” Greg points toward the doors. “On my way out.”

“Oh, right.”

“Still won’t tell me who shot him.” Greg shrugs. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Mary’s smile fades slightly then she nods twice. “Might want to investigate it himself?”

“What, like when he ran off from here a week ago?” Greg shakes his head. “Don’t know what to think really. Seems just like half the cases he’s been in on, always hiding what he knows until the end.”

Mary frowns. “You think he’ll end up telling you who it was?”

Greg shrugs. “Might be he doesn’t actually know. Might be he wants to investigate. Might be anything. After a while, I’ve tried not to predict him. Never works.”

Mary laughs once. “I believe that.” Then she tilts her head. “Don’t worry, Greg, John and I will watch out for him.”

“How’s John, by the way? Surprised he wasn’t up there keeping vigil so Sherlock stays put.”

Mary swallows once and looks away. Greg instantly knows that look but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. Mary looks back again with a wide smile. “Fine. John’s just fine.”

Greg watches her for a few seconds then nods. “Right. Good.”

Mary clears her throat and her eyes wander again. “Well, I won’t keep you.”

Greg takes a step back and smiles. “Good to see you, Mary.”

She nods once then turns on her heel and walks away. Greg watches her go and hopes that look was not as far reaching as it could be. John and Mary deserve to be happy and, unlike some people, the two of them know how.

–––––––––

It takes three weeks of silence before Mycroft calls Greg.

Greg sits on his couch with The World Cup on the telly, into the second stage now Germany versus France and Greg is rooting for France. David almost took him up on a bet but David decided to save his money this round what with Claire’s win with Brazil before. They really need to keep betting out of their football watching, always leaves one Lestrade unhappy and they cannot have that.

Greg’s laptop sits open on the coffee table, a stack of case files beside it and a plate with some half eaten lasagne Greg made beyond that. Greg does not normally make lasagne; the process is time consuming and the amount of cheese, more often than not, makes him feel sick afterward. However, he found a recipe for butternut squash lasagne and decided to be daring. He is not disappointed in the results.

Though usually Greg avoids bringing work home, he is behind on a number of reports he owes his superintendent. Most of the reports are statistical about their recent cases, numbers closed, number open, any staff incidents, and the like. It is menial work and he always leaves it too late, especially when there are far more important things like crimes to be solved. But the brass do love their reports and Greg wants to keep his job for now.

Greg glances up at the telly as he types – number of arrests for the first week of June – just in time to see Germany make a goal. 

“Oi!” Greg groans and sits back from the table. He frowns and picks up his fork, stabbing some pasta and shoving it into his mouth. “Good thing I didn’t bet David.”

Greg puts down his fork again and looks at his computer screen. He rubs a hand over his face then turns and opens one case file. He has most of this data from their computer system but there are specifics to add. Greg’s mobile begins to buzz with a call at the far end of the table. He reaches over and grabs it at the second buzz. He looks down and stops just before pressing ‘answer.’

The screen reads ‘Mycroft’ and instantly Greg's teeth clench tightly together.

The mobile buzzes a third time, then a fourth and Greg presses ‘end.’ He puts the mobile down and turns back to his laptop. He types another line about a submitted incident report from three weeks ago. He glances at his file stack again. He has a report number he can reference, probably in his e–mail. Greg glances up at the television again as he picks up his beer bottle. The score is still the same. He purses his lips then takes a drink of his beer.

Then Greg’s mobile begins to vibrate again. He picks it up with his free hand, sees ‘Mycroft’ on the screen then clicks ‘end’ again. Taking a big gulp of his beer, Greg places his mobile on the far side of his couch. Greg puts the bottle down and turns back to his laptop, pulling up his e–mail. He searches his ‘incident’ tab for the right case and report. It should not be too far down.

Greg feels a slight vibration in the couch and he sees his mobile lighting up with a call for the third time. 

Greg clenches his teeth. “Damn it.” He reaches over, presses end again then shifts into his contacts. He picks David’s number and hits dial.

David answers just after the first ring. “I should have bet you!”

Greg laughs once and smiles. “Too late now.”

“Is it though?” He hears something clatter on what must be a kitchen counter. “There is still a whole half left in the game. Come now, Greg, do you not have faith in France to bring it back?”

“Leave your sweet talking for Jane.”

“No need, she’s winning her pool.”

“Pool?”

“Oh my dear Greg, you do not know the skills this woman has. Why do you think I married her?”

“I have a few other reasons in mind.”

“Pregnancy?”

Greg snorts and picks up his beer. “You cad.”

“Guilty as charged, detective, haul me away.”

Greg laughs, “Oh, I will or at least Jane will when she hears your talk.” Then picks up his lasagne and leans back against the couch.

“Traitor,” David mutters.

Greg only smiles against the mobile as Germany keeps out playing the French. His mobile does not buzz with another call that night.

–––––––––

Greg stands in front of a pair of parents, arms around each other and their eyes darting about their house. He holds a notebook in his hand, half for note taking and half to inspire confidence in the couple of their abilities to solve this present murder.

“Mr. Bliss, you were saying?”

“I…” He clears his throat. “The sitter called us, said she thought something weren’t right, she’d heard noises.”

“She didn’t know if she should call the police,” Mrs. Bliss interrupts. “She asked us. She was only fifteen. God, why did we… Loren, my boy, Loren... who could...”

She puts a hand over her mouth and looks everywhere but at the entrance to the kitchen and the stairs beside it several meters away to the right.

“And… when she hung up suddenly we…” Mr. Bliss breathes in sharply and suddenly grips Greg’s hand holding the notebook. “We only went to see a film! You understand? We went to see a film and we come back…”

Greg nods and gently pats Mr. Bliss’ hand over his. “I understand, Mr. Bliss, you couldn’t have known.”

“Our son.” Mrs. Bliss says quietly. “Why our son? He was only… why would…”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, Mrs. Bliss.” Greg gives her a sympathetic but determined look he has crafted after years of talking to people in their worst moments. “And we will catch him.”

“Detective Inspector?”

Greg cocks his head just slightly at Cooper’s voice but does not turn away from the parents staring at him in earnest. “Yes, Cooper?”

She comes up beside him. “I am very sorry to interrupt but our witness would prefer to speak to you.”

Greg’s lip twitches but he does not let his surprise show. Instead he nods at Cooper then turns slightly to Matthews standing by the front door coordinating the forensics team. “Matthews?” He glances at Greg. “Would you mind taking over with Mr. and Mrs. Bliss for me?”

Mr. Bliss' hand clenches over Greg's. “But –“

Greg squeezes Mr. Bliss’ hand back then carefully pulls his away. “Sergeant Matthews here will take the rest of your statement about what happened when you got home while I speak with your daughter, all right?”

Their eyes tick over Greg’s shoulder to the couch behind him then back again. They nod at the same time.

“All right.”

Greg turns to Matthews now at his side and hands him his notepad and pen without comment. 

As Greg turns away, his mobile starts to vibrate with a call in his pocket but Greg ignores it. None of his officers should be calling him now and if it was his superintendent for any reason, he would radio; which leaves one most likely person who Greg will not answer. 

Greg walks around Matthews then over to the couch only a meter away where Lila Bliss sits. Greg crouches down in front of Lila, Cooper still sitting next to her on the couch and rubbing her back up and down. 

Cooper looks up at Greg and smiles. “Lila says you look like her favorite uncle Mark.”

“That so?” Greg turns to Lila and grins. “Does he have gray hair too?”

She nods and knocks her feet together. 

Greg nods back, glances at Cooper then back to the girl. “So, you wanted to talk to me?”

Lila looks at Cooper then back to Greg. She chews on her lip then looks down to her lap. Greg gestures with his head at Cooper so she stands up and walks just a bit away. Greg turns his eyes back to Lila then braces himself with one hand on the couch beside Lila.

“All right, just you and me, yeah?”

“Uncle Mark is teaching Loren and me football.”

“Oh really? And how are you doing?”

She frowns. “Good.”

“I helped teach my niece and nephew how to play football too.”

Lila looks up suddenly from her lap. “You’re an uncle like Uncle Mark? I like having uncles.”

Greg smiles. “We can be helpful.” Greg touches Lila’s hand once so she pays attention. “You’re four, is that right?”

She smiles and nods. “Since April.”

“Very good. And your brother?”

“Loren is six.” Lila holds up six fingers.

Greg swallows slowly. “Very good. So you two had to have a sitter while your parents were out?”

“Stacy is nice. She makes macaroni cheese.”

“But tonight someone else came to the house?” Greg sees Lila’s face change, her little fingers digging into the couch fabric, but Greg continues. “Someone that hurt Stacy and Loren?”

“He broke the back door.” Lila looks to the side at a cabinet with decorative plates, a smeared hand print in blood somewhere near the middle right. “Broke it.”

“When he came inside the house?”

“When he made Stacy scream.” Lila shakes her head from side to side slowly. “Loren didn’t scream so loud as Stacy did.”

When Greg walks back into the kitchen, Clipton stands up from beside the sitter’s body under a sheet. He points behind him as he stops in front of Greg. “Looks like she tried to fight the guy off, defensive wounds all over her arms.”

“But then just the cut throat?”

“Looks like he only wanted her out of the way.”

Greg shakes his head and glances back at the stairs which lead to the second floor. “And the boy?”

Clipton’s face falls. “It’s, uh… it’s a lot worse.”

“Yeah.” Greg stares at the steps, hears their team moving around upstairs then he looks at Clipton again. “Back garden?”

“Ah!” Clipton holds up a finger. “Bit of something.”

They walk around the body and the forensics team, careful to keep away from any blood. As they walk out the broken back door, half off its hinges, Greg’s mobile begins to vibrate again. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees ‘Mycroft’ on the screen. Greg sighs heavily and presses ‘end.’

“Found a bit of broken glass,” Clipton says as he holds up an evidence bag, “with some blood.”

Greg actually smiles at that as he puts his mobile away. “Hope we get a match.”

Clipton nods twice. “Very much hope.”

Greg gazes around the garden, narrow with a small fire pit in the very back though from here it does not appear to have been used in a while. Greg’s mobile vibrates again, this time to indicate a text. Greg breathes out and closes his eyes. He shakes his head slowly and fists his hand around his mobile. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees the beginning of the text highlighted on the screen:

_Mycroft [18:30] I wish to apolo –_

He deletes the text without reading the rest and pockets the mobile again.

“Um, Detective Inspector Lestrade, there is…”

Greg turns around and sees Lila in the back door way with Matthews right behind her looking very conflicted, probably wanting to stop her walking through the crime scene but obviously unsure how to deal with a child, especially one who was a witness to murder.

“Lila?” She hops out of the door way and runs across the grass to him. He crouches low again so he is at her eye level. “You were supposed to stay on the couch, Lila. We have to check for clues, remember? Lisa told you that.”

Lila bites her lip and looks down at the ground. Greg breathes out once and touches the top of her head. She looks up at him.

“What is it?”

“Is my brother going to get better?” She asks.

Greg stares at her for a long moment. “Let’s get you back inside.” Then he stands up, takes her hand, and leads her around the side of the house toward the front, free of any bodies or blood on the ground.

–––––––––

“I said wait for us, Kate!” Claire shouts down the street. “And John, no, we are not going in there, forget it.”

“Mum, come on.” He gestures toward the electronics store. “You said I could pick something out on my birthday.” He gestures again.

Claire shoots Greg a look then glares at John. “Did I say it could be a new mobile?”

John groans, rolls his eyes then walks on ahead after Kate.

Claire sighs and turns back to Greg. “Why was I cursed with twins again?”

“Because of mum.”

Claire rolls her eyes much like her son. “Guess we should be glad those genes skipped a generation, right?”

Greg smirks. “Why? So glad you’re not my twin?”

“Glad you’re not David’s twin?” She counters.

Greg shrugs. “Depends, whose looks do I get to keep?”

Claire laughs. “You do know that you and I would be fraternal, right?”

“Meaning I would not get to look like you?”

Claire laughs again as they catch up to John and Kate. John skirts around to Claire’s left, nudging her once with his shoulder while Kate comes around on Greg’s right. She smiles at Greg then loops her arm through his. She is only a few centimeters shorter than Greg is now at fifteen. Greg has to assume that comes from Colin.

“Colin is talking about teaching these two to drive,” Claire says as if hearing Greg's thoughts.

Kate snorts in amusement at the same time John mutters a quiet ‘yes.’ Greg raises both his eyebrows and cocks his head at Claire.

She nods slowly. “Oh yes, says that just because he’s gotten a few tickets in the past doesn’t mean he can’t teach his own children.”

“Teach us how to speed,” Kate says.

“Oi,” Claire snaps half–heartedly.

“He planning on letting them drive through this?” Greg says, waving a vague hand at the London traffic beside them. "Plus, knows he's got two years still for these lot, yeah?"

Claire shrugs. “I am thinking of hiding all the car keys.”

“Oh, sweet!” John gasps suddenly and breaks away from the quartet. Claire looks up in surprise just as Kate says, “awesome,” and jogs ahead as well, pulling free of Greg’s arm.

“Wait!” Claire and Greg shout at the same time but John and Kate are already at the door of what appears to be a book shop, gazing at the books in the windows. “Oh god,” Claire groans.

“Shouldn’t you be happy your kids love to read?”

“My wallet isn’t.”

Greg chuckles. “Going to break the bank for sure.”

“How are you doing?” Claire asks, bumping her one shopping bag between them against Greg’s leg.

“How do you mean?” Greg counters stiffly.

Claire stares at him for a moment then clears her throat. “Work, of course.”

“Fine. How’s Amaze?”

Claire smiles. “Working on an AD for Lexus right now.”

“Car speeding around a curvy mountain road or flashing through an empty city street?”

Claire raises her eyebrows. “Did you forget the beautiful blond stepping out of the car option?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Greg waves a hand. “Must get in a long leg shot.”

Claire snorts. “It’ll be good; web only though, so they’re trying to bring down the price.”

“Of course.”

“Do you really want to talk about advertising?” Claire cocks her head as they reach the door of the book shop. “Would you rather –“

“Talk about my work?” Greg interrupts. “No.”

Claire clicks her tongue, nods then opens the door. “Okay.”

The shop is not small nor is it particularly large, though it does have a mezzanine that starts half way in to the store with stairs in the middle. Greg sees Kate already up on the second floor in the section labeled psychology/sociology. Sometimes Greg wonders if all the brains in the family skipped straight on down to Kate with what she reads lately. Down one aisle, he sees John pulling books off a shelf in the fiction section. Greg glances at the tables with books arranged by related TV shows, a table full of recent hardbacks. He picks up one book with a bee on the front and pages through absently, not reading anything. He puts the book down and looks up at Kate again but she has moved of sight.

When he looks back down he sees Claire watching him.

“What?”

Claire looks away down the aisle where John stands. “Nothing.” 

“What?” Greg insists.

She looks back at him. “You know what.”

Greg turns away this time. “I don’t.”

“Mum.” Greg turns at John’s voice as he walks over holding three books. “Which one?”

Claire frowns. “James Bond? Bit old for your taste, isn’t it?”

John scoffs. “I like classics!” He shrugs. “Plus, I saw Skyfall.”

“You know it’s not exactly the same, right?”

“Bugger, mum, don’t you want your son to read?”

“Of course I do and don’t say bugger.”

“You just did.”

“Because you did.”

“Don’t think that’s an appropriate reason, mum.”

Greg snorts as Claire sighs. She glances at Greg. “He’s a real Lestrade.”

“Actually he’s an O’Shea.”

Claire shakes her head. “Can’t hide the core.”

John grins at the two of them then shakes the books at Claire. “Come on, mum, didn’t you say you’d read them before?”

Claire sighs and takes the books from John then holds them up to Greg. “Which one?”

In her hand she holds 'From Russia with Love,' 'Thunderball,' and 'Dr. No.' Greg stares at the books, the new covers with their black and white, modern simplistic themes. Dr. No rests on top of the fan with Claire’s finger perfectly over the red circle with 007 inside, no art of a woman hiding in a bush on this release.

Greg grits his teeth then smiles and shrugs. “I haven’t read any of them.”

–––––––––

“All right, wanted to congratulate Matthews, Clipton and Cooper on their arrest with the Bliss case.” A number of coppers in the room murmur assent. Greg nods and holds out his hand toward them. “I know we were all happy to see that one wrapped up.”

“See that bloody bastard behind bars,” Bradford says and the whole room responds in agreement.

Greg nod and waves a hand. “All right, sure you’ll hear more with the court case. Now, we have a number more cases, know you all have your assignments.” He looks up from the paper in his hand. “Avery, the neighboring flats?”

“Suspects in for questioning last night, looking good.”

“Right.” Greg points at Donovan. “Smith and Black case? Find anything on the analysis of the fiber?”

Donovan shakes her head. “Turned out to be dog hair. Nothing to go on.”

Greg points at Brooks and frowns. “The cinema one? Arrest?”

Brooks grins. “Waiting on my warrant.”

“Bane of my existence,” Bradford says in Brooks’ direction.

Brooks nods and purses her lips. “Oh yeah, laws and all that. Get in the way, don’t they?”

“Exactly.”

“Tosser,” Matthews mutters.

“You what?”

Greg taps the edge his folder on the table in front of him sharply and everyone quiets down again. He raises his eyebrows at Bradford who crosses his arms and looks at least a bit contrite.

Greg holds out his hands to indicate the room. “Anything else?”

Brooks and Donovan’s hands shoot up at the same time. Greg frowns. “Uh, yes?”

“Pub night,” Brooks says.

Clipton and Avery whoop with approval at the same time. Donovan grins and raises her eyebrows at Avery. Bell pokes Clipton in the side and whispers something that sounds like ‘race you.’

“Wanted to get one together next Friday, what do you think, sir?”

“You are the required party,” Bell adds.

Greg smiles. “You’re all free to do what you like if you’re not on duty.”

The entire room groans and start in on variation of ‘oh come on’ and ‘but you have to come’ and ‘stop being a git.’ Gupta crumples up a piece of paper and throws it in Greg’s direction though she shorts it. Avery snorts loudly and kicks the ball of paper back toward her. Clipton tries pouting as he is the person sitting closest to Greg.

Greg waves a dismissive hand. “You’re as bad as the children I don’t have.”

“That’s why you have us,” Gupta pipes up.

Greg rolls his eyes. “Right, fine, pub night. Plan away, Brooks.”

“Pub night next Friday!” Brook says loudly with her arms out to indicate the whole room then she looks back at Greg. “There, planned.”

Greg sighs. “I’d fire you if you weren’t so good.”

Brooks just grins wide as Donovan claps her on the back lightly.

“Dismissed!” Greg barks though he is smiling.

Greg stops in the kitchen on the way back to his office. He needs a mug of coffee. He did not make any at his flat this morning and traffic ended up getting him into the office only ten minutes before the morning meeting. The coffee pot in their kitchenette turns out to be empty but for a thin layer that looks half a day old. Greg runs the pot under the tap, pouring it out twice but he does not bother to actually wash it. What is a bit of old coffee sludge with the new coffee anyway? The coffee is subpar enough for no one to notice. Greg puts the grounds in the top with a new filter, adds water then sticks the pot back underneath. 

For five minutes he stares at the cabinet door in front of him while the coffee brews. He notices a dent at the top edge he has not noticed before. Maybe someone slammed the door shut in a fit of lack of coffee rage. Maybe the door needs to be replaced after years of expanding and retracting. Maybe the door decided to just give up.

When the coffee is brewed Greg pours some into a Met mug and leaves it black.

Back in Greg’s office, he puts the coffee mug down on his desk close to the laptop. He steps over to the filing cabinet in the corner, opens the bottom drawer and adds the closed Bliss case file. He stands up straight again then moves to sit down in his desk chair. A white card shaped envelope rests on his desk. Greg shuts his eyes and breathes out slowly. When he opens them again the card is still there. Greg picks up the card then walks around his desk to his rubbish bin against the wall. He stands over it staring at the card. He taps the edge against his thumb twice then he drops the card unopened into the bin.

Greg sits back down at his desk, breathes out slowly again then turns to his laptop. “Right, closed case record.” He clicks into the system record with the mouse then starts typing.

Ten minutes later Greg’s mobile vibrates on his desk. He glances at it and sees ‘Mycroft.’ 

“No.” Greg reaches across his desk instantly and presses ‘end.’

He turns back to his computer and finishes the ‘closed’ status on the case file with notes about the court date. It looks like Cooper already attached the arrest record.

Greg’s mobile buzzes once more. Greg frowns and glances at it. He sees he has a voicemail. Greg pulls his hands back from the keys of his laptop. He bites the edge of his lip and shakes his head. Then he reaches out, picks up his mobile and clicks into the voicemail. He enters his password then waits as the automated message files through. Then it clicks into message one:

 _“Greg… please answer me.”_ Is all Mycroft’s voice says.

Greg deletes the message.

–––––––––

Greg kneels down beside his entertainment system. He was thinking of maybe watching a DVD tonight but nothing is jumping out at him. He could certainly put on football or maybe find a Doctor Who episode. Then again he could always read something instead. David gave him a biography on Churchill which he has yet to start. To be fair, Greg already owns and has read a biography of Churchill. Greg really needs to buy some more books. He stands up straight again and slides over to his book case.

“Anything?” He mutters while chewing the edge of his lip. 

Greg looks at the top shelf and sees a few books he bought several months ago. He pulls out 'Devil in the White City' then walks back over to his couch where his dinner is cooling. Greg decided a few weeks ago to take his mind of certain things he should resurrect the cooking he loved and had been neglecting. That is not to say that Greg had stopped cooking, only that he had fallen back on old easy recipes instead of real cooking. He tried to make a cream sauce from scratch tonight, various spices of estimated quantity and whole wheat pasta. Greg is not a health nut or anything, just interested in new flavors. Also for some reason the store was out of regular pasta.

Greg sits down on the couch and puts the book beside his fork. He frowns when he realizes he forgot to get himself a drink.

“And a dining room,” Greg says out loud.

Maybe he should think about buying a house again. How long can a fifty plus man stay in a flat he only got because he was fighting with his wife?

Greg sighs. “Three years ago…” He glances around. “Not a bad flat though.”

Greg stands up again and walks to the kitchen. He might just have water tonight instead of a beer. He needs to buy some more and is not sure when he is going to have time. He has meetings tomorrow and a hastily organized football game with some old mates on Saturday. Chris decided out of the blue, probably due to lack of World Cup, that they needed a game for old time sake. It will certainly be interesting.

Greg fills up a glass with water from the tap then someone knocks on his door. Greg shuts off the water, puts the glass down on the counter then walks to the door. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket but does not see any texts or missed calls. The person knocks on his door again.

A voice on the other side of the door says, “Inspector Lestrade?”

Greg unlocks the door and opens it. “Anthea?”

She smiles. “You recognized my voice?”

“Sorry?”

She holds up a hand to indicate his flat behind him. “May I come in?”

Greg frowns. “Why?”

“It will only take a moment.”

“I’m having dinner.”

“I won’t eat any of it.”

Greg sighs then steps back out of the doorway. “Fine.”

She walks past him into the flat on gray stiletto heels all the way to the break in the hall just before his bedroom to the left and kitchen to the right. Greg closes the door then walks in and around her so he is in between her and the rest of his home. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at her.

She smiles. “I suppose you can guess why I’m here.”

“And?”

“I have a message.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m going to say it anyway.”

“Then I’ll open the door and throw you out,” Greg snaps.

She cocks her head. “You could try.”

Greg uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on his hips. He breathes in once and speaks calmly. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say for him, all right? I’m not going to listen. I don’t want to listen. So you can just skip it.” He shrugs then waves a hand at her. “That it?”

Anthea frowns then opens her handbag. “No.” She pulls out a small box with a card underneath. “There’s this.”

Greg closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “You know that’s no different, right?”

“What can it hurt, Inspector?”

He opens his eyes again. “I don’t want it.”

“It is a present. Take it.”

“I said, I don’t want it, you can leave.”

“I can’t leave until you take it.”

Greg huffs. “Is this your job? Errands for him? Grabbing John in a car and bringing me notes and presents? Is this in your contract?”

Anthea presses her lips together in a line then smiles slowly. “You’d probably not want to see my contract.” 

“I’m not going to ask what that means.”

“Good.”

“Now, would you leave? I’m asking you to leave.”

Anthea chuckles. “I’m not going to.” Greg only glares at her until she shakes the box at him in an imploring manner. “Don’t think you want to test how patient I can be when there’s a need.”

“This is a need?”

She narrows her eyes with mirth. “Thought you knew him?”

“I think I don’t.”

Her face shifts a little at that. She takes two steps closer so the box is well within Greg’s reach. “He’s trying, can’t you see that?”

“I don’t care. It’s too late. And we are not talking anymore, Anthea.” Greg points behind her at the door.

“I already told you I can’t leave until you take this from me.”

“Fine.” Greg reaches out and takes the box and card from her hand. “You’re free.”

She smiles. “Good.”

Greg walks around her and into the kitchen. He opens the cabinet door under his sink, pulls out the rubbish bin and drops the present inside. Then he puts the bin back under the sink and closes the door. He turns around again to see Anthea in the kitchen door way looking vaguely forlorn.

“Good bye, Anthea.”

“That’s not…” She sighs. “You know that’s not –“

“You said you couldn’t leave until I took it and I took it. So good bye.”

Anthea cocks her head and sighs again. “You can’t even open it?”

Greg steps forward, walks around her and back down the hall. He opens his front door and waits. Anthea looks sidelong at him from where she still stands at the kitchen entrance. She pulls her mobile out of her handbag and texts quickly. Then she turns on a heel and walks down the hall. She grips the strap of her handbag, pauses for a moment in front of Greg then passes him back out into the hall. Greg shuts the door without another word.

–––––––––

Greg stands outside New Scotland Yard with a cigarette in hand, the digital crawl and blue signs lauding police achievements behind him. He had gotten himself down to about five a day but in the last couple months that has gone up again. He needs to talk to Claire but admittedly he worries she has gone and quit again without him. She certainly did not need to leave for a smoke break at dinner last week while Greg chaffed at the bit.

“Spare a light?”

Greg looks right to a police constable he does not know. He nods and pulls his lighter from an inner pocket of his jacket. The man takes the lighter, lights the end of his cigarette then hands it back.

“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”

Greg only nods back. Evidently the constable knows who Greg is. Taking another drag of his cigarette, Greg turns back to the street. He goes over a list in his head of paper work he needs to complete. Sometimes it seems as though he never solves crimes, only fills in forms.

Greg shakes his head, glances at the receding form of the PC once and then flicks ash off the end of cigarette. “Simpler to be a PC.”

Greg looks down the street toward Westminster then sees a familiar profile. It takes him a moment as he watches the person walk closer. He realizes it is a woman, two more steps and it is Anne. 

She stops in front of him three seconds later. “Hi, Greg.”

“Hi, Anne.”

She smirks at the cigarette in his hand. “Smoking again?”

“As you see.”

She shrugs. “Better than heroin, I guess.”

“Never did that.”

“Exactly.”

Greg smiles. “Right. So, how are you?”

“Good.” She nods and grins. “Great actually. I, uh…” She laughs once. “I’m engaged.”

Greg’s eyebrows shoot up and he blinks twice. “What?”

“Engaged.” She holds up her hand to show a ring with a small cushion cut diamond.

“Damn.”

She drops her hand again. “Rivals yours, yeah?”

Greg chuckles without much humor. “Uh, right, you could say that.”

Anne clears her throat. “Sorry, that was… Wasn’t trying to be cutting.” She smiles reassuringly. “But yeah, engaged. We set the date for December, so coming up.”

“Congratulations.” Greg smiles again. “Really, mean it.”

“You’re welcome to come,” Anne says holding out a hand.

Greg frowns. “That a polite invite?”

Anne makes a face and bobs her head from side to side. “Kind of.”

Greg chuckles and smokes some more of his cigarette. “No worries, be weird if I came.”

“Yes.”

“Not a copper, is he?”

Anne laughs. “God no. Owns a hotel downtown.”

“Bugger!”

“I know, right? And he likes to fish.” She grins. “He’s better than me though. I need to step it up.”

“Good luck with that.”

“So, um,” Anne clears her throat and readjusts her handbag strap, pulling some hair free. “How are you doing?”

Greg flicks ash to the side. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” She says and waits. When Greg says nothing else she frowns slightly. “Are you seeing –“

“I’m fine, Anne,” Greg cuts her off.

Anne nods. “Okay, sure.” She smiles once more then takes a step back. “Well, good to run into you, Greg.”

“You too, Anne.”

She nods once more then turns and continues down the street. Greg watches her walk away, takes one last drag of his cigarette then flicks it away into the street.

––––––––

“Hey.”

David grins and holds up the beer in his hand. “I can contribute.”

Greg smiles. “In the best way possible.”

David sniffs the air. “Damn, I want to eat it already.” He shrugs. “Whatever it is.”

“Rosemary chicken with gravy and potatoes.”

“You’re a God, Greg Lestrade.”

Greg laughs and closes the door behind David as he walks into the flat. “Just a minor one.”

They walk down the hall to the kitchen where David puts the beer on the kitchen table. David walks over to the counter then begins to root through a drawer to find a bottle opener. Greg returns to the stove and checks on the chicken in the oven; it should be done in fifteen to ten minutes. David was right on time. Greg closes the oven door again then walks over to David as he finally pulls a bottle opener out of the drawer.

“Look, got to talk to you about something,” David says as he crosses back to the table.

Greg leans his hip against his counter. “Rory? He still have that girlfriend you hate?”

“No and no.” David pulls two beers out of the pack.

“Not Edward? Isn’t he the good one?”

David chuckles. “So far but no, this is not about any of my sons.”

“Jane’s not angry with you again?”

David huffs as he pops the tops off both beers then puts the bottle opener down. “I’m not always fighting with my wife.”

“That’s the only things I get to hear.”

“Not true at all.”

Greg grins and takes one of the beers when David offers it. “I’ll let you think that.” He takes a drink. “So what then?”

“Mycroft came to see me.”

Fortunately Greg was not taking another sip of the beer because he would have spit it out. “Excuse me?”

“Mycroft came to my house. How does he know where I live by the way?”

“England’s spy network probably? What do you mean he came to see you?”

David laughs once in an odd way then drinks a big gulp of his beer. “That man of yours is really something, I have to say. You never told me the half.”

“He’s not my man.”

David cocks his head. “Tell him that.”

“He is well aware.”

“Well, apparently, he isn’t.” David waves his beer hand. “He came to see me about you.”

Greg clenches his fist around his beer bottle. “Oh.”

“He wanted me to talk to you for him.”

Greg scoffs harshly. “So you’re on his side?”

“When exactly did I say that?”

“You’re going to talk to me for him. I heard that.”

“Nope. You heard that he came to me asking that.”

“And here we are talking," Greg snaps.

“Would you not bite my head off?" David finally snaps back. "It's not my fault he came to see me!"

Greg breathes in deeply then slowly breathes out. "Fine. He came to see you. You told me and we're done." Greg takes a drink of his beer. "Wonderful."

David sighs. "I thought... I thought this was all done between you two?"

"It is."

David huffs and points to himself. "Really now?"

"It is," Greg insists.

"Look, you're protesting 'an awful lot over something that is supposedly done especially when he's coming to my house, sitting in my kitchen, drinking my tea, forcing me to swear to talk to you."

"Bloody hell, is this primary school?"

"Greg..."

"What the hell do you want me to say, David? I'm sorry he came to your house but I don't want to hear it!"

"Greg, I'm not trying to say you should have to –"

"No, David, I've spent enough time waiting around for him, having to march to his tune and I'm done. I told him that and that's it."

"I'm not advocating for him, I just –"

"Please, David, please, okay?" Greg sighs and rubs his free hand over his eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

David says nothing for a minute. When Greg drops his hand and opens his eyes, David is watching him. David turns and picks up his beer from the table again. He takes a long drink from the bottle then nods once. "Okay, Greg." He smiles. "Dinner time."

Greg smiles back. He glances at the oven and nods. "Should be good."

Greg puts down his beer on the counter and pulls some oven mitts from a drawer.

"Greg." Greg turns back to David. "You know I'm always on your side?"

Greg smiles with real feeling this time. "I know, David."

–––––––––. 

Greg swings the car around another curve as the blue Toyota in front of them takes the turn fast enough to nearly flip the car. However, it stays level, side swipes a parked car then guns through another red light. Greg presses his foot on the gas as their siren keeps screaming.

"Left, left!" Bell shouts and he spins the wheel again.

"He's heading back your way, Clipton!" Greg shouts into his radio.

"We're on it," Clipton's voice says through the radio. "Banks has – shite!"

Greg sees the car ahead of them jump the curb around a car waiting at the red light and swings left down a narrow street.

"Watch it!" Bell says as Greg swerves them to the right around the bystander car.

"I see, I see!" Greg cries and narrowly misses taking off the side mirror.

They swerve through the traffic, cars stopping just in time and continue pursuit down the alley, the car a bit further ahead now but still catchable. 

"Guess we know they're guilty, eh?" Bell says with a wide smile and her hands braced on the dash board.

"Three bloody murderers," Greg says, "who like making us – hell!"

As they hit the main road again, the Toyota skids to a stop when Clipton and Banks' car cuts them off. Greg yanks the wheel to the left to avoid slamming into the Toyota. Before Bell or Greg can get out of the car, three doors of their suspects' car fly open and the men come racing out, two left and one right.

"Stop, police!" Bell shouts as she gets out of the car.

Bell takes off in the direction of the one man while Clipton races after the two. 

Banks runs over to the stopped car then looks up at Greg. "Nothing."

Greg heads off in the direction Clipton went, shouting back at Banks. "Go help Bell!"

Greg runs down the alley but sees nothing. He stops and listens for anything, shouting or crashing. He pulls his radio out of his jacket pocket. "Clipton? Where are you?"

Greg's radio crackles as Clipton's voice comes through. "Building on the left... back and..."

"On my way!" Greg looks up then runs on down the alley.

"Sir, suspect in custody," Banks' says through the radio. "Cooper is on the scene taking care of him. Bell and I are coming to you."

"Good, hurry up." Greg checks down each side alley as he runs. 

He shoves his radio back into his pocket. He hears nothing as he comes toward the end of the alley, does not see any people – criminal or copper. Then suddenly Greg hears two gun shots and rounds the corner of the alley just in time to watch blood spurt from two bullet sized holes in Clipton’s neck. 

Greg freezes for three seconds as Clipton falls.

Clipton hits the ground with a crack, the man holding the gun drops it as he turns away, Greg feels his feet moving, Banks hits Greg's shoulder as he surges around Greg heading for their suspect who is already running away down the street and Greg runs right for Clipton sprawled out on the ground. 

Behind him as he runs, Greg hears a voice. "Ted..." It is Bell. "Ted!” She shouts louder the closer they get to him. “TED!" Greg dialing on his mobile as they run.

Bell hits the ground hard on her knees as she reaches Clipton one second before Greg.

"I need an ambulance, now!" Greg shouts into his mobile. "I have an officer down. I need an ambulance right now!"

Greg drops his mobile, kneels down then clamps his hands around Ted's throat, tries to slow the bleeding, do something. The flesh of Ted's neck is a torn mess; Greg has no idea if he is helping anything at all but he holds on.

"Ted." Bell slides one hand under Clipton's head and grasps his hand tightly with her other. "Hey, look at me." She smiles in a thin line as he looks up at her, his mouth moving but only bubbles of blood squirting around Greg's fingers. 

"No, shh, stop." She props his head up on her knee, careful of his wound, and threads her fingers in his hair. "It's okay. It's okay." 

She squeezes his hand then leans over and kisses his forehead. "It's okay, Teddy, it's okay. Just look at me. Hold on." She sits up just a little so he can see her. "It's all right. We both said we'd never die on duty, right? Just focus on me."

Clipton gasps and his eyes try to roll back in his head for a minute. 

Bell squeezes his hand again and gasps, tears running two trails down her cheeks. "No, no, come on. Look at me, baby, all right? Listen, it's okay. It's okay. It's going to be all right." She sniffs hard once and smiles at him as his eyes focus on her again. "I Promise. You believe me, okay?" 

Clipton's body starts to shake in her lap as Greg watches, one eye on the empty street beside them, no ambulance in sight.

Bell breathes in sharply, "damn," and kisses Clipton's forehead again, his eyes staring at her intently. "I love you." She laughs breathlessly once. "I love you, okay?" She speaks against his skin. "I told you I'd say it at the right time." 

Clipton's hands jerk, the one holding Bell's squeezing so hard there are marks in her skin.

Bell sits up so Clipton can look at her and she slowly strokes her hand over his hair as Clipton begins to shake harder. "It's okay, it's okay." She swallows. "I love you. It's okay." 

She kisses his lips once then keeps stroking Clipton’s hair until he stops shaking and his hand goes slack in hers. 

When the ambulance arrives ten minutes later Greg has to pry Bell's hands off of Clipton though she says nothing at all.

Banks caught their gunman and shoved him in the back of a police car along with their first arrested man. Cooper caught their third a few streets away with no shots fired. One of the three men already admitted to involvement in the murder of Grace Smalls. A well wrapped case, except for one thing.

"Bell." Greg stands beside Bell as she sits in the front seat of a Met car, the door open and her feet out on the ground. Her hands are clasped together with her elbows on her thighs. She stares at the pavement. She still has blood on her. 

"Mari," Greg says instead.

She breathes out audibly. "Yes, sir?"

"Let's clean you up, all right?"

She only shakes her head.

“It’ll only take a second,” Greg coaxes. 

She still does not answer him or move.

“Come on, Bell,” Greg says again.

Suddenly Cooper comes up beside Greg. She crouches down and grips Bell's hands. Bell jerks but Cooper does not let go.

"Mari, listen to me, all right? I am going to drive you home. Don't worry about statements or the hospital or anything else. I am going to take you home right now."

"I can't go home," Bell says.

"Mari, you have to –"

"I can't go home. Ted and I live together."

Greg sees Cooper’s jaw clench. She shakes her head once then squeezes Bell's hands again. "Then I'll take you to my flat, okay? You can stay with me tonight. It's very nice, promise."

When Bell says nothing, Cooper stands up again and turns Bell around by her shoulders. After a gentle nudge, Bell puts her feet in the car. Cooper touches Bell's hair for a brief second then Cooper closes the car door.

Cooper turns around and looks up at Greg. "All right, sir?"

Greg nods once. "On your way, Constable."

–––––––––

Greg stands in the front of the conference room, the whole department seated or standing before him. Banks and Cooper sit at the very front to his left where he asked them to sit, safe enough from all the reactions and questions. Bell is not at the office today.

"Listen up," Greg says. He claps his hands twice and the room quiets down. Greg breathes in slowly and clears his throat. "I have some important... something important to tell you all."

The last time Greg stood before the department with news about death it was the reverse and everyone already knew. This time four in the morning allowed no time for rumors nor were those involved inclined to amused gossip.

"Last night there was an incident involving three murder suspects. Sergeant Bell, Constable Cooper, Constable Banks..." Greg pauses to glance at the two seated near him but both are staring straight ahead at the wall. "Constable Clipton and myself were involved." Greg shifts his gaze around the room and he sees a few people leaning forward, expressions intent. "A chase occurred, the three suspects were caught but..." Greg breathes out once. "Ted Clipton was shot and killed during the incident."

The reaction is almost silent. Gupta closes her eyes; Matthews' jaw clenches and he shakes his head hard; Donovan puts her hand over her face; Bradford's expression turns murderous; Avery gasps and swallows twice; Then Brooks' mug of coffee shatters on the floor. A few people in the room jump, Matthews puts his hand on Brooks' shoulder and Greg clears his throat for attention again.

"For those of you who were or were not aware of Clipton and Sergeant Bell's relationship," Greg waves a quick hand by way of no need for explanation. "She has requested no visitors right now."

"Sir..." Brooks starts.

"It's what she wants," Greg says without letting Brooks say more.

Brooks closes her mouth and nods.

Greg puts his hands on his hips. "Ted Clipton was a fine officer. He was an asset to the service and our team in particular. He upheld the law like we all do and I know he supported every one of you in different ways."

A number of people in the room respond with 'aye' and 'yes.' Gupta says, "never failed," quietly.

"Tell others you know if you wish. I have a press conference in two hours where it will be announced. Anyone who wants to send something to his family I can give you the address." Greg nods once. "The funeral should be within the week. I will let you know as soon as possible." Greg clears his throat again. "Full uniform. Let's send him off as he should be."

"Yes, sir," the room says as one.

"Dismissed," Greg says quietly.

His officers file out of the room in silence, a few touches of hands, a few nods and looks. Banks and Cooper wait until the room is empty then stand up.

"Thank you both," Greg says. "If you'd rather not talk to anyone send them to me if they have questions."

"It's fine," Cooper says. "All they need to know is that he was a good copper."

"The best," Banks says, glancing at Cooper then back to Greg. "What about Mari?"

Greg sighs. "She is with her family now. I am going to see her after I see Ted's family again."

Cooper looks back. "Last night..." 

"I know, Lisa, but they were in shock. The light of day will calm them down." 

"Ted's father was a copper," Banks says. "He'll want us all there despite what Ted's sister said."

Cooper smiles grimly and nods. "Hopefully."

"All right, back to it, but," he points at them both it turn. "If you need to leave just tell me. Nothing wrong with it, all right?"

"And you?" Banks says.

Greg only gives Banks a look. Cooper grips Banks' forearm. He glances at her quickly then they both turn and leave the room. Greg stares at the glass doors, clean, clear, straight through to the gray wall outside in the hall.

Back in his office, Greg picks up the card on his desk without thinking about it. He opens the card and reads:

_My most sincere condolences for your loss, Greg. If you should need anything I am absolutely yours._

_Your,  
Mycroft_

Greg drops the card and puts a hand over his eyes.

–––––––––

The service lasts only thirty minutes; a few religious readings, Clipton’s sister speaks – talks about summer days and unwavering support, Greg speaks though afterward he could not have told you what he said, and it ends with Clipton’s father – no tears and a uniform which looks as if it were brand new.

“He was my son and a loyal officer of the law.”

Clipton’s mother cries but makes hardly any sound.

Greg shares the lead pallbearer position with Clipton’s father. Bell insisted on being a pallbearer – a few shouts Greg heard but nothing that could move her – even wore thick heels to make herself tall enough. Now she stands behind Greg with Clipton’s older brother on the other side, Avery and Banks at the back. Clipton’s father gives a ‘hup’ and they hoist the coffin up once then again onto their shoulders. The mourners all stand at once as they slowly walk down the aisle toward the doors of the church.

Greg thinks he has never heard such silence before.

They all come briefly to the Clipton house. Clipton’s father stands before them, just family and the members of their division along with Clark Peters and two other officers Greg is not familiar with now

“Thank you for everything you did for my son,” Clipton’s father says to the officers but more directly to Greg. “Ted loved his work as a police officer, not just because he was following in his father’s footsteps but because he believed the work mattered, that the law mattered.” 

His eyes shift to Bell standing beside Greg, crisp in her uniform, eyes dry and arms stiff at her sides. “Mari.” Her head moves just a fraction. “We did not always get along and I am sorry for that because Ted loved you and we knew that.”

Greg hears Mari inhale sharply.

Clipton’s father turns away again, looking past the people present to somewhere else. “Theodore… you were a good man, always a good man, a light in our family, and you… you left us doing what you always strove to do, upholding the law.” Clipton’s father breathes in deeply. “I love you son, we all do, Sarah, Harold, your mother, we… we love you and… I hope you will be at peace.”

The room is silent for a moment though Greg can hear Bell beside him crying softly. Clipton's father raises his head and nods to the assembled people. Clipton's family moves to comfort each other and the police officers present all relax.

Greg turns to Bell. She holds up her hand before Greg can speak. “I’m going to stay with Ted’s family.” She breathes out slowly and rubs a gloved hand under her eye. She smiles. “Total mess?”

“Well, good you don’t wear makeup.”

She laughs once in a hollow way. “Who says I don’t?”

Greg smiles. “You’re fine.”

She nods then clasps her hands together. “Thank you… for… for that night.” Then she turns away before Greg can speak and walks toward Clipton’s family.

Greg leads the charge for the Met coppers to leave the house so the Cliptons can mourn more privately. Outside the wind whips past them, the cool of August leading soon to September. 

“Sir?”

Greg turns to Avery beside him now, Banks and Peters flanking him with the others further back waiting. “Wanted to let you know, we are going to the pub tomorrow around five for a drink in Ted’s honor.”

Greg nods. “I’ll be there.” He looks over Avery’s shoulder at Peters and nods again. “Good to see you, Clark.”

He smiles slightly. “Somewhat.”

They all nod at Greg then walk away toward the street, Brooks touches Greg’s arm as she follows Bradford and Cooper but says nothing. Donovan stops for a moment beside him, Matthews walking past her with a hand on his hat toward Greg. Greg grips Donovan’s shoulder and squeezes. She nods twice then follows the other officers.

Greg watches them walk away for a moment. He takes his hat off his head, glances at the house behind him then walks back down the street. As Greg nears the corner, turning his hat in his hands, he looks up to see Mycroft standing in front of a black car parked right in front of Greg’s car by the kerb. Greg stops and stares at Mycroft standing straight, hands together, just waiting. Greg breathes in once then keeps walking.

“I thought perhaps you could use a ride,” Mycroft says once Greg is several meters away from him.

“I drove.” Greg gestures to his car.

“It could be better after a stressful event to not drive.”

“I don’t need a ride.”

“I can have someone take your car if you wish.”

“I don’t need a ride.”

“Then for me, could you…” He gestures to the back door of his car.

Greg breathes out slowly and feels so very tired. “Please, go away, Mycroft.”

“Just one conversation, Greg.” He holds out his hand toward his car again. “Just one.”

“No.” Greg walks toward his car.

Mycroft takes two steps forward, not exactly in Greg’s way but closer. “Would you please get in the car, Greg?"

Greg sighs and points toward Mycroft’s car with his hat. “Are you going to make me?”

“No.” Mycroft takes another step closer to Greg though still not close enough to touch him. “I am just going to ask you, please?” He swallows and takes a deep breath. “Please, Greg.”

Greg shuts his eyes and fists one hand around his hat. “Fine.”

He opens his eyes again to see the most grateful expression on Mycroft’s face. Then Mycroft moves, opens the car door, Greg takes five steps forward and climbs inside. Mycroft closes the car door and is around the other side faster than Greg would have expected. Mycroft slides in beside him as the door closes and the car pulls away from the kerb.

“All right, Mycroft,” Greg says as he stares at leather cushioned wall and glass separating them from the driver. “I’m in the car.”

“Thank you.”

“Get on with it then.”

“Could you please look at me?”

Greg turns his head and looks at Mycroft. Mycroft smiles, sitting so he is almost completely sideways on the car seat facing Greg.

“I’ve wanted to apologize,” Mycroft starts then sits up straighter. “I want to apologize.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that,” Greg says tersely.

“I am sorry.” Mycroft puts his hand on the seat between them but does not try to touch Greg. “I am sorry for these past months, for holding back, for that absurd date, for before that, for… for leaving you in the first place when I never should have.” Mycroft breathes in slowly and dips his head. “I am not an easy man to love, possibly even harder than Sherlock. I am cold and callous as you said. I am single minded in what I think matters most – what I thought mattered most. I am neglectful of others, of their feelings and needs. I look down on those with less intelligence than myself.”

“You mean everyone?” Greg interrupts quietly.

Mycroft looks up again. “What Sherlock never realized, though I think perhaps he is learning, is that should one possess exceptional ability in one area they are often excessively deficient in another. I have always been aware of this but never perceived it as a problem before.”

“Before?”

“I do now.”

Greg purses his lips. “I suppose you tried.” 

“It was not enough.” Mycroft shakes his head. “I said I am not an easy man to love, not even when I am trying to gain that love but… but you cared about me. You still care despite your attempt to cut me out of your life.”

Greg breathes in and clenches his teeth but he cannot deny it.

“You have to know that not all of it was intentional.” Mycroft glances across the car then back to Greg. “You may perceive it as an excuse but the nature of my work does sometimes force me to make decisions I would rather not. I am an important man, which I say not from a sense of pride but of obligation. I suppose at one time I thought it better that you not be dragged into that but that… well, that was not my choice alone nor can I use the dangers and pressures of my work as an excuse to hurt you or isolate myself completely.”

Greg huffs quietly. “He learns.”

Mycroft laughs once in a polite way. “Slowly it seems.”

“But that’s not enough, Mycroft.”

“I know,” Mycroft says quickly. “I know that. You told me you would take it slow for me, would wait and I gave you nothing back. I tried, I thought I did but… you were right, I…” Mycroft looks away and his voice softens. “I was afraid to really be with you again but just as afraid to lose you.” He looks back at Greg. “But… You let me relax, you made me laugh, you made me… you made me happy and I should not have foolishly let go of that, not for a moment and certainly not for years.”

Greg stares at Mycroft but cannot say anything.

“Greg.” Mycroft finally reaches out and takes one of Greg’s gloved hands off his hat. “I do not wish to wait or go slow. I want to be with you.”

Greg glances down at their hands then back up at Mycroft. “Mycroft, you… how can you expect…”

“I do not expect anything, Greg. By all rational sense you should not have even gotten into this car.”

Greg huffs. “Mycroft, you…” He sighs. “You said please.”

Mycroft smiles and squeezes Greg’s hand. “I would have said it more if I had to.” He looks down at their hand. “Greg, I am not adept at trusting or heeding my own feelings. You know I prefer to think instead but I know this is one feeling which I must obey.” He looks up again. “Despite all my contradictory behavior, my back and forth, my protests, I know I do need you.”

Mycroft reaches out with his other hand and puts it on top of Greg’s hand which he holds. “I started this in the beginning and I remember why. I cannot promise perfection nor my work to give us complete freedom or even my own nature to be completely benevolent. ” He looks into Greg’s eyes and does not waver. “I can promise I will not walk away again, not unless you ask me to.”

The car stops suddenly with Mycroft’s side of the car at the kerb. Greg glances out the window past Mycroft and sees they are in front of Mycroft’s house. Mycroft clears his throat quietly and lets go of Greg’s hand as Greg looks at him again. 

Mycroft glances out the window as well then takes a sharp breath in as he turns back. “I will say once more I am sorry, Greg, for everything. And now, if you wish my driver can take you back to your flat and… and I will step away from you or…” His hand twitches like he wants to touch Greg again but he does not. “Or you can please come inside. It is your choice.”

Greg looks away from Mycroft. He twists his hat around in his hand once, feeling the metal police insignia through his gloves, breathing in and out. Then Greg turns, opens his car door and steps out of the black car. He closes the door behind him then walks around the car and up onto the kerb. He opens the back door of the car on Mycroft’s side. Mycroft looks up slowly at Greg, his palms flat on his thighs.

“Are we going inside or not?” Greg asks.

Mycroft lets out a relieved gasp then swiftly stands up and out of the car. Mycroft pulls Greg into his arms, moves again to touch Greg’s hair, slide his fingers over Greg’s cheek, his neck, his expression so happy because – and Greg knows this is true – because he believed Greg would say no.

Greg smiles, puts his hands on Mycroft’s hips. “Just kiss me, Mycroft.”

And he does – holds Greg’s face in his hands, an arm around Greg’s back and kisses him.

“I have missed you,” Mycroft says against Greg’s lips. “What was I thinking? I missed you so much.”

Greg chuckles and kisses Mycroft again. “I’ve been right here.”

Mycroft pulls back, grips Greg’s hand and pulls them both toward his house. He unlocks the door with one hand, keeping Greg’s hand tight in his as if Greg might change his mind and flee back to the car. Then the door knocks open, Mycroft pulls them through and bangs it closed again by pushing Greg up against it.

“Fuck,” is all Greg has a chance to say before Mycroft is kissing him, pressing him hard into the door, luckily just to the side of the door knob. 

Greg’s hat falls from his hand to roll somewhere across the floor as he grips Mycroft’s side to pull him closer. Mycroft runs his hands over the front of Greg’s uniform, slides across the watch chain, then drags his nails over the skin of Greg’s neck. Greg holds Mycroft flush against him with one arm as they kisses harder and uses his other hand to pull at Mycroft’s tie.

Mycroft laughs lightly against Greg’s lips. “You always liked this tie.”

Greg smiles as he loosens it. “Brings out that red in your hair you try to hide.”

Mycroft huffs and bites Greg’s bottom lip. Then he shifts to Greg’s neck biting and sucking in short bursts, stopped by Greg’s tight collar. His hand slides up Greg’s chest until he curls his hand around Greg’s black tie.

“And both of us with ties.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

Mycroft kisses Greg on the lips again; tongue against Greg’s and mumbled words. “Too late.”

Then Greg pushes Mycroft hard, walking them away from the door and down the hall. Mycroft looks bereft for one moment at the loss of Greg’s lips then Greg pulls at Mycroft’s suit jacket. He pushes it off Mycroft’s shoulders, down his arms then Mycroft helps pull it off the rest of the way. Greg throws it to the side as they keep walking back, somewhere in the direction of Mycroft’s umbrella stand but who bloody cares where it lands?

Greg makes it through two buttons of Mycroft’s waistcoat, Mycroft’s hand on Greg’s tie, when Mycroft’s heels hit the bottom of the staircase. He stumbles but catches himself with a hand on the banister. Greg slides his gloved hand over Mycroft’s on the bannister – Mycroft shivers at the touch – then pulls it away, pushes Mycroft down onto the stairs and straddles Mycroft’s hips.

Mycroft gasps hard. “Oh… shi… Greg.”

Greg holds Mycroft’s hand against one carpeted step, kisses Mycroft’s neck and works his waistcoat buttons with his other hand. Mycroft suddenly grabs Greg’s chin and turns his head to kiss him again, nipping at his lips. Then Mycroft slides his free hand up Greg’s thigh to grip Greg’s arse. 

Greg laughs into their kiss but it is breathy and heavy. “Watch that.”

“I do, often,” Mycroft counters.

Greg lets go of Mycroft’s hand to take the pocket watch out of Mycroft’s waistcoat pocket and put it aside. Then he finally unbuttons the last button of Mycroft’s waistcoat. He pushes the expensive fabric off of Mycroft’s chest. Then he sits back, pulls at Mycroft’s tie with both hands and slides it off Mycroft’s neck.

Greg holds up the red tie in front of his face for a moment then he glances at Mycroft. “This tie is probably a hundred pounds, isn’t it?”

Mycroft huffs and grabs Greg’s waist to hitch him up more into Mycroft’s lap, presses their hard–ons together so they both breathe in sharply. “Because you care right now, Greg, yes?”

Greg drapes the tie over the banister.

“Throw the jacket but save the tie?” Mycroft asks with a smirk.

“Surprise.”

Then Greg reaches down and unbuckles Mycroft’s belt. Mycroft gasps and digs his fingers into Greg’s thighs. Greg undoes Mycroft’s trouser button, pushes down the zip then reaches into Mycroft’s pants with one hand, glove still on. Mycroft breathes in sharply, biting his lip and head knocking back against the stairs.

“Careful,” Greg whispers as he pushes Mycroft’s pants and trousers down more so he can stroke Mycroft up and down.

Mycroft groans, breathing hard, but does not attempt words.

Greg shifts up onto his knees to take some pressure off of Mycroft’s legs, strokes up and down Mycroft’s shaft slowly, uses his other hand to work on the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt. Mycroft tries to sit up more, fists a hand in Greg’s jacket, then Greg twists his hand and presses his thumb into the head of Mycroft’s penis and Mycroft groans again.

Suddenly, Greg lets go of Mycroft. Mycroft blinks and sits up a bit in confusion. Then Greg stands up out of Mycroft’s lap and kneels between his legs instead.

“Bloody he –” Mycroft starts then Greg slides his mouth down over Mycroft’s cock. 

Greg pulls at Mycroft’s pants and trouser, moving them down a bit more so he can get closer, slide lower. Mycroft breathes harder, Greg grips the base of the shaft, slides his tongue up and down, Greg sucks harder, Mycroft grips Greg’s collar, Greg grazes his teeth just barely along the base, Mycroft groans again, then Greg slides down and deep and Mycroft comes with a loud gasp.

Greg swallows, sits back with one hand bracing Mycroft’s leg then wipes a gloved hand along the edge of his mouth. He looks down at his glove with a frown but to be fair he does own other pairs. His eyes shift to Mycroft – trousers down, exposed, shirt half unbuttoned, eyes closed, mouth open, hair out of place – and it is a sight he will burn into his mind for as long as possible.

Greg stands up, his pants feeling tigher at the moment. Mycroft opens his eyes slowly as if he is half drunk. Greg smiles then shifts to the side and walks up the stairs. He stops at the landing where the stairs bend to the left and looks back down. Mycroft stares up at him, only half turned around, still completely disheveled.

“Are you coming or not?” Greg asks.

Mycroft twists around, pulls his trousers back up into place and practically jumps to stand. He climbs the stairs and stops beside Greg, trousers back together but minus his belt, shirt untucked and four buttons open, just two inches taller looking down at Greg.

“I rather like your uniform,” Mycroft says as he runs a hand down Greg’s buttons.

“Not that fancy.”

“You look splendid.” He runs his hand along Greg’s collar and over the knot of his tie. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“You’re only saying that because I just –”

But Mycroft growls and cuts Greg off with a kiss, hustling him backward up the rest of the stairs, before Greg can finish his sentence. Greg chuckles into the kiss, touches Mycroft neck then turns when they reach the second floor. He walks briskly down the hall, Mycroft right behind him with a hand on the small of Greg’s back until Greg opens the door of Mycroft’s bedroom.

Greg turns around and raises both eyebrows. “New sheets?”

Mycroft only smirks and kisses Greg again, backing him up slowly toward the bed. When they are nearly at the foot of the bed, Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg’s middle and picks him up just slightly, probably intending to drop Greg on the bed. However, Greg wraps his legs around Mycroft at the same time so they both fall back onto the bed, Mycroft on top of Greg.

Greg laughs as Mycroft makes an ‘omf’ noise of surprise. 

Mycroft smiles and tilts his head. “As though I could genuinely pick you up anyway.”

Greg mock pouts. “Oh right, calling me fat?”

Mycroft nods, his hand rubbing over the front of Greg's trousers. “Yes, exactly.”

Greg laughs again through a sharp gasp and kisses Mycroft, sliding a hand into Mycroft’s hair. “Can’t believe it, he jokes!”

“Never,” Mycroft whispers just over Greg’s lips.

Mycroft kisses Greg slowly as he starts to undo the buttons of Greg’s uniform. He leans back as he finishes with the last button, coaxes Greg to sit up and pull the jacket away. Mycroft smiles, says “shame” then continues to carefully remove every piece of Greg’s clothing; shoes, socks, tie, trousers, shirt, and pants until Greg lies naked and aching on the bed.

Mycroft slides back off the bed, hands dragging across Greg’s skin and teasingly close. He stands up again, sheds his trousers and pants, then crawls back over Greg, scooting them both up to the pillows. Greg sits up slightly against the headboard and Mycroft settles over his lap. (It seems they are both fans of laps today). Greg opens the last buttons on Mycroft’s shirt then Mycroft takes Greg’s one hand and guides it back over his arse.

And that is when everything starts to rush ahead without stopping.

Greg’s head blurs, his hands focus, his eyes sharpen, his lips never stop moving, searching for more to kiss. He grips Mycroft’s thigh, he pushes his fingers inside, he listens to Mycroft’s sharp breathing and matches in time, and he feels everything, feels so hot. Mycroft pulls Greg’s hand away; Mycroft kisses his neck, his hair. Mycroft grips the base of Greg’s cock, sinks down on it, gasps in time with Greg, rises and falls. Greg lifts with Mycroft, holds on tight and moves his hips, shifts and pulls Mycroft down harder on him, kisses a line across Mycroft’s chest. He breathes in an out, moves faster, gasps out words, a name. Mycroft braces one hand on the wall, the other on Greg’s collar bone.

“Don’t stop,” Mycroft says. Or Greg says.

“Yes…” Greg says. Or Mycroft says.

Greg touches Mycroft’s chest, his arse, slides his hand over and squeezes Mycroft’s cock, bites a spot at the base of Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft breathes harder into Greg’s hair, whispers things Greg cannot hear, and moves faster, hips twisting in delicious ways. 

Then they groan and gasp and cry out one after another, in what order who knows, just hot skin and some mess between them.

Mycroft slides back and lies beside Greg, dress shirt still around his shoulders somehow. Greg manages to grab the box of tissues off the table on his side and cleans them both up a bit. The sweat is just going to have to stay. Mycroft smiles in an amused way at the comforter and sheets pushed half off the bed from their activity. Greg throws the tissue in the general direction of the rubbish bin, puts the box down then lies full on his back again. Mycroft breathes softly beside him and makes a satisfied humming noise in the back of his throat.

After a moment of silence Greg says, “talk about make up sex.”

Mycroft starts to laugh and does not stop until Greg kisses him quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you all can tell by now that I am American. BUT this American is in London RIGHT NOW. For 3 weeks... which means there will be a longer gap between chapters. Sorry but I assure you my writing will only benefit.


	4. Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know, Mycroft, the reason I was so angry with you before, why I told you I didn’t want to see you, was because how much I’d wanted us to work.”_
> 
> _Mycroft stares at Greg but says nothing._
> 
> _Greg smiles and stands up straight again. “Yes, Mycroft, I want to ‘move forward’ together.” He cocks his head. “As you long as you’re there with me, really there.”_
> 
> _“I am.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fudging some police procedure with internal stuff but I think I've been doing that for awhile. Thank you for for bearing with me and the long wait for this chapter. Hope it is worth it.
> 
> Also, want to thank my Britt pick Caz, [NumberThirteen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberThirteen), who is keeping me British right and I adore her so much for all her help!
> 
> Lastly, fun things, if you have not see before I have three fanmixes for this work: [Please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-1) and [Please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-2) and [Please, please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-3)  
> As well as actor casting for various lead and/or important characters: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the) and [Greg's Significant Others](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/93887095862/sherlock-please-please-please-casting)

Greg stares at the wall in front of him, paint off–white, probably labeled ‘egg shell’ or something equally ridiculous. The wall clock to the left reads six fifteen in the morning, sun peeking through the blinds now in confirmation. Greg breathes in and out, legs crossed under the duvet and hands flat over that. His one finger taps a rhythm he does not quite control, one tap, two tap, one tap, two.

He knows exactly when Mycroft wakes up behind and to his right because of how Mycroft's breathing shifts. (Greg wonders if maybe he has spent too much time with Sherlock over the years.)

The minute arm of the clock moves and now the time is six sixteen. Greg breathes slowly, clenches one fist then relaxes his hand again. Mycroft’s hand touches Greg’s lower back, a slow line over his skin. Greg cocks his head and slides his left hand off his leg to flat on the bed.

“Greg?”

Greg closes his eyes once – the car, Mycroft’s voice, the stairs, heat and feeling and happiness – he sighs and rubs his other hand over his face once.

“Greg?”

Greg drops his hand back down onto the duvet again and opens his eyes. The clock reads six seventeen now.

“Greg,” Mycroft says for the third time but now with insistence.

“Yes?”

“What is wrong?”

Greg frowns but does not look back at Mycroft. “Can’t you tell? You're the smart one.”

Greg hears Mycroft sit up against the headboard behind him. “I would prefer you tell me.”

Greg shakes his head then shoves the covers off himself. He stands up and searches for his pants on the floor, finding them near the wall.

“Greg…”

“I can't believe this happened.” Greg half falls into his pants then stands up straight again, finally turning around to Mycroft still in bed. “It’s…” He huffs. “Bloody hell, I’m fifty–one, what is this?”

“Greg, you are reacting –“

“Uh uh.” Greg shakes his hand. “Don’t pull your ‘overreacting’ or ‘how to react’ card here, none of that.” Greg sees his trousers on the other side of the bed and walks that way. “I tried to finish this. I really did but you… God.”

“Greg, you came inside. I asked you and you came inside; you did not have to. That was not a mistake.”

“Really? It wasn’t?” Greg picks up his trousers and shakes his head. “Because the ways things between us have been lately tells me it was.”

Mycroft sits up straighter, pulls his legs up under himself and hands on the bed. “It was not. I meant everything I said.”

Greg pulls on his trousers, buttoning them up as he speaks. “Oh yes, you talk a good game.”

“It is not a game!” Mycroft shoves himself off the bed, pants already on probably from sometime in the night, and walks swiftly to Greg. “You are not a game to me! I have made mistakes, yes, but I will not again. You must give me a chance.”

“A chance? What do you think we’ve been doing all summer?”

“We were going slow as you said you would but then decided it was too slow after all!” Mycroft snaps suddenly.

“Oh right?" Greg scoffs. “It was slow not stop."

"I never stopped, not entirely." Mycroft waves a hand to the side. "And I admitted I was wrong, did I not?"

Greg shakes his head. "We can split hairs about your pacing or me rushing or whatever, the point is just because you said all those things how do I know it's not going to fall right back into canceled coffee and harsh sarcasm?"

Mycroft's jaw clenches. "If what I said yesterday really meant this little to you then why did you come inside?"

Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his hair, anger deflating. "It didn't 'mean so little' to me."

"But it was a mistake?"

"I... I don't know, Mycroft."

"Why did you come in then? Why did we have sex last night? Why are you still here?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the one that thinks?"

Mycroft stiffens then frowns. He breathes out once slowly and speaks quietly. “I do not want to fight, Greg, please.”

Greg looks away for a moment. His shirt is half draped on the chair near the door. He is not really sure how it got there. He remembers that part of the evening being less frenzied but he was also paying no attention to what Mycroft was doing with his clothing once it came off. Greg looks back at Mycroft still staring at him.

“Okay,” Greg replies, “not fighting.” 

Greg turns and walks to the chair picking up his dress shirt. He pulls it over his shoulders and slides his arms through. He starts buttoning from the bottom then Mycroft steps forward and puts his hand over Greg’s. Greg looks up at him.

“Last night was not a mistake,” Mycroft says again. “You have to believe that.”

Greg looks down at their hands. “I believe you do care.”

“As do you; you came inside and you are here now. It is not a mistake. It is a new start.”

Greg pulls his hands away and Mycroft does not stop him. Greg puts his hand on his hips. “Mycroft, we’ve been muddling along for months, why does your speech mean it’s a new start now?”

Mycroft frowns. “Did you not listen to me?”

Greg crosses his arms over his chest and glances at the window. "Mycroft I listened and I came in because I wanted to believe you." He looks back at Mycroft. "I want to believe you."

"You can."

"Well, you have to show me that, Mycroft, you can't just say it. You said you're not going to walk away again but..." 

"I want to be happy, Greg," Mycroft says. "You told me once that being happy is the most important thing, did you not?"

"I remember."

Mycroft reaches out and touches Greg's wrist. "You make me happy."

"You made me happy too."

"I want to _make_ you happy. I want us to be happy. We were happy last night. I was so happy."

Greg's lip quirks up a little. "It's kind of odd to hear you say happy so many times."

Mycroft chuckles quietly. "My apologies."

Greg’s lip quirks up more and he actually smiles. "No, you can say it as much as you want."

“Do you still think this was a mistake?" Mycroft asks instead.

Greg looks away at the bed, the duvet bunched up into the middle now from Greg and Mycroft pushing it aside when they stood up.

"Greg?"

Greg sighs. "I hope not, Mycroft."

"We were happy together, Greg. We can be again. I'll show you."

Greg nods. "All right. Okay." He glances at the clock then back to Mycroft. "Look, I'm going to head out."

Mycroft steps closer to Greg. "Now? Surely you can stay, perhaps have breakfast?" 

Greg sighs again. “I buried one of my men yesterday, Mycroft.”

“Ah, yes." Mycroft frowns. "I suppose I could have chosen a better time to speak to you.”

“Uh, yeah.” Greg steps to the side and picks up his uniform jacket from the chair. “I’m just going to go now.”

“And what of us?” Mycroft says, standing still in the same spot.

Greg opens his mouth but cannot say anything. He stares at Mycroft and thinks about not thinking at all. Mycroft moves and steps close to Greg. He touches Greg’s neck then kisses him. Greg sighs and kisses Mycroft back, runs his hand over the bare skin of Mycroft’s side.

"Yes," Greg says quietly.

Mycroft's hands still on Greg's neck. "Yes?"

Greg smiles against Mycroft's lips. "Yes."

Mycroft sighs with contentment. "Good."

“You have to prove it to me, Mycroft, all right?” Greg pulls back a little but still runs his hand up and down over Mycroft's skin, warm and perfect under his fingers. "I want you to."

“I will.” Mycroft kisses him again. "I will."

–––––––––

Greg opens the door to his flat at seven–fifteen the next day to find Mycroft standing on the other side, gray three–piece suit and a brown tie with a plaid pattern holding a brown bag in one hand.

“Hi,” Greg says.

Mycroft smiles. “Good morning.”

Greg rubs a hand through his wet hair and smiles back. “Hi, uh… look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I… I shouldn’t have started a fight and left all before seven in the morning. Bit mixed signals there.”

Mycroft chuckles. “You should not be apologising.”

“It can’t always be you.”

“Well, you inspire a desire for repentance in me.”

“You know I have made some mistakes too, Mycroft.”

Mycroft tilts his head. “A few as is usual but not to the degree which I must atone for and, please, do not contradict me on these faults as you are aware of them too so we need not minimalise them. May I come in?”

Greg opens his mouth then sighs. ”Yeah.” He then steps to the side out of the doorway.

Mycroft walks past Greg into the flat and down the hall. Greg closes the door and watches Mycroft as he stops at the break in the hallway. Mycroft turns his head to look down toward the bedroom. He stands still just looking as Greg walks over to him.

“What?”

“I… well, it has been years since I have been inside your flat.”

“It has not –” Then Greg stops himself because, yes, it has; it has been three years.

Mycroft turns half way to look at Greg behind him. Greg just stares back at him. Mycroft glances around again once then turns toward the kitchen. They walk in together and Mycroft picks up Greg’s electric kettle.

“I do not believe you had this before?” Mycroft says, flashing it at Greg before he moves to the sink to fill it with water.

“I did, you just never bothered to look for it in the cabinet when you made tea, keeping to your old Victorian habits?”

Mycroft purses his lips. “I see.”

Greg gives Mycroft a look then smiles. “Does this mean you are making tea?”

Mycroft points toward the brown bag he brought now sitting on the counter top. “I brought some I thought you might enjoy.”

“Yorkshire?”

Mycroft huffs once as he shuts off the faucet. “Please.”

Greg raises both eyebrows. “Yorkshire Gold?”

Mycroft chuckles once. “Are you simply trying to amuse me now?”

“Well, it was your brand.”

Mycroft raises both eyebrows. He opens his mouth but closes it again almost immediately turning into a smile instead. “Yes. But that is not what I have brought.” He shakes his head from side to side once then puts the kettle back on the base and flips the switch at the bottom. “It is something new I have yet to try myself and thought we could both benefit.”

Greg smiles. “Right.”

Mycroft turns around and opens one cabinet to pull out two mugs. He puts them down on the counter near the kettle. 

“So, early morning visit?” Greg asks.

Mycroft opens the drawer between them and pulls out a spoon. “I wished to see you.” He closes the drawer and looks up at Greg. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You did, as you said, bury one of your men yesterday.”

Greg nods. “Yeah, well, fine considering then. Not the first person I’ve lost in the line of duty.”

“But under your command?”

Greg purses his lips. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

“Do you?”

“Not before eight o’clock.”

Mycroft smiles. “As you wish.”

Greg smiles a little then looks down at the floor. He wonders for a moment the last time he mopped in here. Has he ever mopped this floor?

“Greg?” He looks up at Mycroft again. “Are you…” Mycroft clears his throat. “I trust you still wish for the two of us to move forward again?” He pauses, looking Greg up and down once. “Together?”

"I said yes yesterday, didn't I?"

"Well,' light of day,' as they say, though I suppose it only partially fits our situation."

“You know, Mycroft, the reason I was so angry with you before, why I told you I didn’t want to see you, was because how much I’d wanted us to work.”

Mycroft stares at Greg but says nothing.

Greg smiles and stands up straight again. “Yes, Mycroft, I want to ‘move forward’ together.” He cocks his head. “As you long as you’re there with me, really there.”

“I am.”

“Because I’ve told you this same thing before.”

“I remember.”

Greg sighs. “Are we just going to be one of those on again, off again couples?”

“Not if that means we must have another ‘off again.’”

Greg chuckles then grins. “You’re a difficult man, aren’t you, Mycroft?”

Mycroft frowns then sighs, expression turning into a smile. “I am but I shall endeavour to be less so for you. I have promised.”

“You did?”

“I am now.”

“Oh, well then.”

The kettle clicks off beside Mycroft. He turns his head at the sound then takes a step back. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a small box of tea, a brand name Greg does not recognize. Mycroft pulls out two tea bags and drops one in each mug. Then he picks up the kettle and pours water into each mug. He puts the kettle back on the base and slides the spoon on the counter over next to the mugs. Greg smiles.

Mycroft shifts back and picks up the sugar bowl near the wall, adding some to each mug. He stops then looks at Greg. “I… you do still take sugar in your tea?”

Greg smiles. “Just because you haven’t been to my flat in a while does not mean my tea preferences have changes in a few months.”

Mycroft nods and puts the sugar bowl down. “True.”

Greg walks over to the refrigerator before Mycroft can and pulls out the milk, handing it to Mycroft. Mycroft takes the container and leaves it beside the mugs, waiting for the tea to brew.

“Greg.” Mycroft touches the spoon again then looks at Greg’s face. “How is it real people live life like this, emotions manipulating so much of one’s actions and wellbeing? I understand sex and desire; I thought I understood where this could lead when I first pursued you but…” He sighs. “It is all far more complex than I anticipated.”

Greg steps over to Mycroft, touches the lapel of his jacket then smiles. “If it makes you feel better, most people don’t get it at all.”

Mycroft frowns. “I certainly believe that.”

Greg laughs. “Mycroft, everyone muddles through life, you can too.”

“I would not say I muddle.”

Greg raises both eyebrows. “No?”

Mycroft purses his lips. “Usually, but…” Mycroft reaches out and touches Greg’s fingers, low by his thigh, griping them then letting go again. “But now I think I may be better. Prior we have always run on my timetable and I think it better you lead on.”

Greg grasps Mycroft’s fingers. “It’s a relationship, Mycroft, not a timetable.” Mycroft frowns and Greg squeezes his hand. “But I know what you mean.” Greg looks at their mugs of tea, small bubbles still at the edges and the color a deep brown. He looks back to Mycroft. “It is all right to be a bit normal, Mycroft, and we can be. You and me.” Greg tilts his head. “I hope.”

Mycroft breathes in slowly. “I will not disappoint you.” He moves forward one step and kisses Greg’s lips. Then he pulls back and picks up the spoon. “Now, tea.” Mycroft squeezes out the tea bags, dropping them in the trash then adds a bit of milk to each mug. He stirs then edges one mug toward Greg.

Greg smiles and picks up the tea. “Will I be impressed?”

Mycroft shrugs once as he picks up his own mug. “As it is new to me as well, I do not know. I certainly hope so.”

Greg squeezes Mycroft’s hand still in his and thinks about the word ‘hope’ on Mycroft’s lips.

–––––––––

Greg rubs the invisible line in the middle of his forehead down the bridge of his nose and back up again. He breathes out once, drops his hand and opens his eyes. He continues to read through the case file on his desk, single murder with multiple stab wounds and what appears to be some type of burns. The evidence at the scene was spotty though hopefully forensics will be able to find something.

Greg picks up his desk phone and dials. “Yes, sir?”

“Donovan, where are the witness statements on the Parker murder?”

“Bradford is entering the last one into the system now, should be up soon. We have contacted the family and they should be coming in a couple hours from now.”

“Good, anything to work with from them?”

Donovan grumbles. “Doubtful, sounded like they hadn’t spoken to the girl in years.”

“Bad blood?”

“Who knows, might be motive in there though?”

“Probably would help to have more than a ‘haven’t talked in years’ hunch there, yeah?”

Donovan chuckles politely. “Of course, sir.”

“Tell Bradford to call me when he’s done and let me know if you hear from forensics.”

“I’ll check in myself.”

“Go getter.”

“Why, yes sir.”

Greg smiles and hangs up the phone. He flips a page in the case file then looks up when he feels the presence of someone in his office doorway. It is Bell.

“Sir?” Her jaw is tight, one hand is balled in a fist at her side, and her shoulders are hunched. “May I come in?”

Greg almost stands up but just nods instead and motions to the chair in front of his desk. Bell walks in and sits heavily down in the chair. She slides her palms over her thighs, fists her hands then relaxes her fingers again. She looks at him, presses her lips together and then looks away at the wall behind him.

“Bell?”

“I, uh… I wanted to ask you, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Have any the coppers you’ve worked with been shot before?” She looks at Greg again. “Died?”

Greg breathes in. “Yes.”

Bell breathes out. “Yes?”

“I’ve been a copper since nineteen eighty–seven, Bell.”

She smiles but it is hollow on her face. “How many?”

“Bell…”

“More than one? Someone you saw every day? Someone you cared about?”

Greg pushes his chair back from his desk. “I think you should go home, Bell.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t go home. I don’t have a home.” She breathes in slowly, closes her eyes once and stays so still. “What the fuck is a home anyway? I didn’t even like that flat; Ted picked it. The view was a brick wall. I just liked the rent.” She opens her eyes again and grinds her teeth. “What am I supposed to do at home? What would you do? What did you do?”

“Bell, I can’t answer these questions for you. It’s not the same.”

“But it’s something!” She snaps suddenly and jumps out of the chair.

Greg stands up as well and comes around his desk. Bell steps back once so the chair is between them. Greg frowns then holds up his hands. “I’m not going to hug you, Bell.”

She laughs once in a surprised away. “Good.”

“But you shouldn’t be here.”

She shakes her head. “I have to be.”

“We will give you time, Bell. You need it.”

“I…”

“DI Lestrade!” 

Greg turns his head when hears his name coming from down the hall. He turns quickly to stand in his doorway, half closing the door behind him. He looks around the corner and sees one of the forensics team rushing down his way.

Greg cocks his head. “You had to come up?”

“Yes!” He holds out the piece of paper in his hand. “It was faster. Traces of blood found on the shoes by the door, not the victim's.”

Greg looks the report up and down. “Match?”

“Your man Bradford is on that.” He grins. “But I certainly hope so.”

“Thank you.”

When Greg turns back into his office for a moment it appears no one else is there. Greg walks back in and steps around toward his desk. Bell sits on the floor, her back against the drawers on the left side of Greg’s desk. She glances up at him then looks away just as quickly to the wall in front of her. Greg breathes out slowly then walks over and sits down in his desk chair. He touches the top of her head with his hand once then pulls away again. He puts the forensics report down on his case file and gets back to work.

–––––––––

Greg stands beside Matthews as the two of them look at the white board in front of them. Matthews writes down the name of their second victim and crosses off the first victim’s husband.

“Solid alibi,” Matthews explains, “work conference with five others who can confirm at the time in question.”

“What about the ex–husband?” Greg says pointing to the first name. “Claudia was married before.”

“Still haven’t been able to track him down.” Matthews picks up the case file from the table. “Got in contact with her brother who supposedly still speaks to the ex but…” Matthews shrugs and puts the file down. “Nothing yet. Parker is looking into it.”

“Lovely.”

“Sir,” Gupta says as she comes in through the glass doors behind them. “Toxicology is in on the second victim, no sleeping pills like with Claudia but she did have traces of something else.”

Greg raises both eyebrows and takes the paper from here. “Oh really now?”

“Sergeant?” Gupta says to Matthews.

“Constable?”

“The second victim, Rebecca Palmer, her mother is here to speak with you.”

Greg and Matthews look at each other quickly then Matthews walks around the table and out the door. Greg looks at Gupta again and nods. The drugs in the second victim’s system certainly indicate a certain level of premeditation. Greg steps back and picks up the case file which Matthews had been looking at earlier. 

He adds the paper and points toward the door. “All right, Gupta, you get on evidence. I believe we have some finger prints to check on?”

“In fact, I do.”

Greg smiles as they walk out through the doors. The walk down the hall, Gupta walking swiftly and just a bit ahead of Greg. Thus, when Gupta rounds the corner first she stops and turns back to Greg as he reaches her.

“Sir?”

He frowns. “Problem?”

“Well,” she glances back toward the rows of desks in the department. “There is a man holding flowers standing in front of your office door.”

Greg steps around the corner beside her and sees Mycroft, umbrella in one hand and a small bouquet with blue flowers in the other, standing beside his open office door. Mycroft smiles at Greg.

Gupta frowns and looks up at Greg. “Do you know him?”

Greg gives her a look.

She stares at him for a moment then her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh shi –”

Greg chuckles and turns away before she can finish her expletive, walking over to Mycroft. Greg stops in front of Mycroft, the two of them framing his doorway.

“Hi.”

Mycroft glances at the room beside them, numerous officers surreptitiously watching them. “Busy afternoon?”

Greg shrugs. “The usual. Not yours?”

Mycroft breathes in once and clicks his teeth. “A matter of perspective perhaps.”

Greg gives him an incredulous look then points down at Mycroft’s hand. “You brought flowers?”

“Would you rather I did not?”

“You can bring flowers, I just… well usually people bring flowers with a reason.”

“Aren’t you the reason?”

Greg smiles. “That was romantic, you know that?”

Mycroft clears his throat. “I do.” Then he smiles as well. “I promised to prove it to you.”

“Flowers are proof?”

“I hope they help at least.” 

Mycroft holds out the flowers to Greg. Greg takes them, looks down at leaves and violets and some white flower with blue edges then up at Mycroft again. He nods his head toward his office and they step in, Mycroft closing the door behind them. Greg turns and raises an eyebrow at Mycroft.

“I think perhaps your staff have engaged in enough voyeurism already.”

Greg chuckles. “True.”

Greg looks around his office and wonders if he has a vase. The last time he had flowers they were from Mycroft so that vase is probably gone. Maybe he could use a coffee mug? If he looks there might be a spare vase or something tall enough in their little department kitchen. For the moment, Greg lays the flowers on top of his filing cabinet.

“Thank you,” Greg says indicating the flowers. “They’re lovely.”

Mycroft smiles. “I should have brought a vase.”

Greg smiles, knowing Mycroft could tell what Greg was looking for. He shrugs. “I’m sure I can find something.” He steps forward again and kisses Mycroft. “I like them even without a vase.”

“Good.” Mycroft runs a hand down Greg’s arm then steps back. “I do wish I could stay, however, I have work to attend to as I imagine you do as well.”

Greg frowns. “You just came to give me flowers?”

“I…” Mycroft’s face falls. “Yes.”

“Oh no, that’s fine.” Greg reaches out and squeezes Mycroft’s hand. “Know you still have work during the day.” He waves his hand around his office. “What we all do, right?”

Mycroft laughs politely and smiles. “Yes, of course.”

“That or I’m going to think you’ll drop your work for me, become my live in boyfriend just waiting patiently on the couch all day?”

Mycroft sighs and frowns at Greg. “Dramatic?”

“Was it?”

Mycroft’s lip quirks then he smiles. “Or you simply wish to tease me?”

Greg smiles. “I never do that.” He taps Mycroft’s chest with his case file. “Back to your work then. You want to do dinner tonight?”

“Of course, shall I send a car?”

“I… you don’t…”

“A joke, Greg.”

Greg frowns half–heartedly then kisses Mycroft again. Mycroft slides his hand along Greg’s side under his suit jacket then back again as he kisses Greg. Then Mycroft leans back with a ‘hmm’ noise. He takes two steps back and pulls open the office door.

“Tonight then.”

Greg smiles. “Bye.”

As Mycroft walks out, umbrella rocking back and forth in his hand, Donovan and Gupta turn at their desks to look at Greg with matching expressions of interested surprise. Greg gives them both a glare before stepping back toward his desk.

–––––––––

Greg walks in a circle around the ready meal section at Sainsbury's. They sell some fairly good pasta creations and Greg still has not decided whether he will cook tonight or not. He did come to the store to buy ingredients to cook but maybe Greg feels lazy. He picks up a container with shell pasta and tomato basil sauce.

"Or not," Greg mutters as he puts the container back and walks further into the store. Suck it up and cook, Lestrade.

Greg's mobile vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and clicks answer without bothering to check the name.

"Lestrade."

"Oh yes, brother, say my name. It sounds much more authoritative when you say it." David tries to mimic Greg's voice. "Lestrade here, detective at sounding in command."

Greg chuckles. "Good day?"

"Oh wonderful, two loads of laundry done, finished the new web design and I painted a side table."

Greg blinks. "You painted a table?"

"Yes."

"Why would you paint a table?"

"So it looks better."

Greg frowns more as he holds the mobile against his shoulder with his ear so he can put red peppers in a plastic bag. "And does it?"

"Does it what?"

"Look better?"

David makes an odd noise. "Maybe?"

"So you painting it did not make it look better?"

"You would have to judge for yourself."

"David, why do I care about this table?"

"Well, you are the one who asked about it."

"I did not –"

David starts to laugh. "Oh, enough, Greg. Jane wants to resell it hopefully. Taking up space in our house and eBay is just lovely."

Greg snorts, throwing the pepper bag into his basket and holding the mobile in his hand again. "Well, good luck with the sellers then. You call for a reason?"

"Can't just talk to my brother?"

"Can you?"

David clicks his tongue and Greg can see David doing his best mum head shake. "Now, Greg –"

"Now, David," Greg interrupts.

"I am planning a Lestrade dinner coming up and need to know when you're free."

"When were you thinking?"

"Probably October some time."

Greg frowns again as he picks up a can of tomato paste. "Bit far off, yeah?"

"It's a month away and when your children – I include Claire's in this – when your children are near adults apparently they have lives and must be factored into the time reservation equation."

"You know, sometimes I just like listening to you talk, David, refreshing."

"I will keep that compliment like a medal on my heart."

"See what I mean?"

David laughs. "Of course. So, you keep that in mind and I'll send you possible dates soon. I know you can't help who gets murdered when but try your best."

"I always do." Greg glances down another aisle, sees boxes of tea from top to bottom on a section of shelves. "David, got something to tell you."

"That Claire is still smoking too? I already know that. You know that you two never really quit unless you do it together. Do I need to schedule a meeting with you two?"

"No, not that." Greg picks up a box of Yorkshire Gold and drops it in his basket.

"Well then – Eddie! Oi, what are you –"

"Uncle Greg?"

Greg frowns. "Edward?"

“Edward!” David echoes in the background.

"Look, I'm sorry, I... I just..."

Greg walks down to the end of the aisle, ducking his head. "Edward, what is it?"

"A boy kissed me!" Edward blurts out.

"What?" Greg snaps at the same time he hears David on the other end of the line saying, "What did you just say?"

"James. He kissed me."

"James? With the curls?" David snaps, probably too loudly.

“Yes!” Edward insists.

“Uh huh…” Greg says.

“He kissed me!” Edward repeats.

Greg rubs his forehead. "Okay, right, got it. So what about it?" 

"What do I do?" Edward pleads.

"What do you do?" David hisses in the background.

"Dad!" Edward snaps and Greg hears something clatter on the floor. Edward's voice changes clearly back toward the phone. "What do I do?"

Greg sighs as he walks toward the dairy section. "Well..." Greg glances up at the ceiling and wonders why he has to be the go to 'gay' uncle. "Do you want him to kiss you again?"

"I..." Edward groans. "Not really."

"Not really?" Greg says at the same time that David does in the background with vastly different tones of voice.

"He's a good mate, I just..."

Suddenly the line makes a scratching nose and David's voice comes through again. "Yeah, okay, Greg, I'm going to have to call you back."

"Yeah, right, you –" Then the line cuts off.

Greg pulls the mobile away from his ear and taps his mobile against the middle of his forehead. "Guess I'll talk to you about Mycroft later, David, good luck with the son problem.” Then he drops his arm and decides to buy too much cheese. 

–––––––––

Greg stands beside his car, radio in hand. The paramedics are finally putting the body into the back of an ambulance. Forensics is packing up their gear, one woman standing beside Greg writing final notes onto their onsite report.

“I still think the weapon could be around here,” she mutters.

“You had four hours,” Greg snaps back.

“It was a rope! There could be fragments, threads!”

“And how long would that take you? You can’t search forever.”

“It could help the investigation!”

Greg huffs. “So could lab work.”

She frowns deeply. “Of course, and when we –”

“When you find more on the body such as a rope fiber?

“That’s –”

“What you are left with. We cannot spend twelve hours at every crime scene with magnifying glasses centimeter by centimeter searching for every tiny scrap which might not even be there. Never solve a case then, would we?”

“It’s the murder weapon!”

“If you didn’t find it in four hours, it is not here to find.”

“Sir –“

“Oi!” Greg holds up a hand. “Enough, you gathered evidence aplenty to search though, not to mention trash bags. Talk to Brooks and you two can have a fine time if you like.”

She breathes in sharply, hands him her sheet then nods her head. “Yes, sir.”

Greg stares at her as she walks back to the car she came in. She has to be, what, twenty–five, fresh in the service? Greg shakes his head and resists rubbing his forehead. He has noticed how much he does that lately and it feels like such a post–fifty gesture. Is he getting that old?

Greg glances down at the sheet, quite thorough on their murder victim and ‘cause of death’ already predetermined as strangulation; though they will have to get the ‘official’ verdict after an autopsy. After all, what if someone wanted to kill the bloke twice, poison addition maybe?

Greg’s mobile vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, sees ‘Mycroft’ and smiles as he clicks answer. “Hello.”

“And how is the crime scene?”

Greg glances around looking for a CCTV camera. He sees one on the building across from him. He takes two steps toward it and raises both eyebrows. He cocks his head and flashes a smile.

Mycroft chuckles through the phone line. “Hello to you too.”

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if after you are free from your murder, you would care to have coffee, maybe lunch?”

Greg turns over his other wrist to check the time, near one o’clock. “Haven’t eaten yet?”

“Would I ask you to lunch if I had?”

Greg ‘hmms’ and waves a hand in the air. “Maybe?”

Mycroft chuckles again. “So?”

“Lunch sounds perfect. Send a car.”

“I… really?”

Greg snorts. “No, of course not.” He points at his car beside him for the CCTV feed. “Give me an hour to wrap this case up for the time being. Brooks is my second so she can wrangle the forensics team and get the ball rolling until I’m back.”

“The joys of subordinates.”

“And don’t you know it. Pick a place?”

“I shall call you again in an hour.” 

Greg smiles so neither the camera nor his team can see. “Glad you called.” 

He hears Mycroft make a quiet, pleased noise. “See you soon.”

–––––––––

Greg sits across from Mycroft at the long table in Mycroft’s upstairs parlor, laptops open between them and a tablet to Mycroft’s left. Greg currently writes a report to his superintendent about Avery. Avery went through a disciplinary hearing and the higher ups decided that he did not have to go through an official process with internal affairs. However, Avery was given one month of unpaid leave along with a mark in his record. As Avery’s inspector, Greg was called on to make a report of all cases and police activity which Avery was involved with in the last twelve month period. The list is long.

Greg rubs a hand over his face, takes a sip of the coffee near his hand then checks the watch on his wrist. It is nearing ten.

“Christ,” Greg mutters and rubs his eyes again.

“Yes?” Mycroft says.

Greg smiles a little at Mycroft seemingly answering to ‘Christ.’ He glances up over the edge of his laptop, Mycroft still looking at his screen. 

“Just this report,” Greg says. 

Mycroft looks up for a minute then back down again. “Difficult?”

“More like tedious.” Greg sighs and presses the enter key. “But has to be done.”

“I understand your position.”

Greg looks up again. “Tedious national security?”

Mycroft smiles and begins typing. “It can be.”

Greg watches him for minute then returns to his report.

08 January 2014: Case number 2014_4_57.  
Double murder. Victoria. 24–36 Gullingham Street.  
Police Constable Michael Avery third officer on the scene preceded by

Greg minimizes the report and pulls up the case file in the system again. He knows Gupta beat Avery to the scene but does not remember the name of the first officer; not someone from his division.

Across the table Mycroft makes a frustrated noise and hits the keys harder for a few seconds. Clicking away from the file, Greg looks up at Mycroft again. Mycroft frowns and taps the tablet beside him, frowns more then turns back to his computer.

“Everything all right?”

Mycroft huffs. “Fine.”

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Coffee will not change this status report to a more positive light so, no, Greg dear, I do not want any coffee,” Mycroft growls.

Greg huffs. “It might at least help –“

“Oh, I am sure, but I require less interruption when attempting to handle security leaks than I do mugs of caffeine laden liquid, Greg!”

Greg clicks his teeth and tips his head back down to his computer. “Right.” He clicks back into his report and types:

preceded by Constable Parni Gupta and Constable David Sand.

“Greg.” Greg glances up, fingers still on the keys, to Mycroft looking back at him. “I apologize.”

Greg smiles. “You can be frustrated by work, Mycroft, lot on your plate I imagine.”

“But I needn’t take that out on you.”

Greg tilts his head. “No.”

Mycroft threads his fingers and taps his thumbs together. He purses his lips and cocks his head at Greg. Greg frowns and raises his eyebrows. Then Mycroft smiles slowly. He reaches out and closes his laptop. Greg’s eyes widen. Then Mycroft stands part way, leans across the table and pushes Greg’s laptop closed as well.

“You’re freaking me out,” Greg says.

Mycroft laughs. “Now, Greg, did you really wish to continue writing your report?”

“I sort of have to.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “I think we have done enough work for one night. After all, as you noticed earlier, it is nearly ten.”

“I didn’t say that out loud.”

“You looked at your watch. What else would you be noticing?”

“Maybe the time didn’t bother me.”

“It did.”

Greg sighs with a smile. “It did.”

Mycroft stands up and walks around the table. He holds out his hand to Greg. Greg laughs once then takes it while standing up. Mycroft curls his fingers around Greg’s then leads them back toward the kitchen.

“You know we’ve already had dinner, right?”

“I remember.”

Mycroft lets go of Greg’s hand when they enter the kitchen, new tile on the floor since their first foray into dating but the counter tops are the same. Mycroft stops at the nearer refrigerator and looks at Greg.

“So, what do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

“Dessert.”

Greg chuckles. “Are you going to make something?”

“If you would like me to.”

Greg steps forward and taps his fingers on the silver door of the refrigerator. “Are you saying you are stocked to make any dessert I can think of?”

“Perhaps not any.”

Greg shakes his head. “You don’t have to make something just to apologize for snapping at me.”

“Did I say I was doing that?”

“You didn’t need to say it.”

“I am not apologising.” Mycroft points at the room behind them. “I already have. I simply think a break from staring at laptop screens would be beneficial to us both.”

“So, dessert instead?”

“I happen to enjoy desserts.”

Greg smiles. “I remember.”

Mycroft taps the door beside Greg’s fingers. “So?”

“Why don’t you surprise me?”

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. “Anything?”

Greg shrugs. “Maybe not cake. I think that would take a while.”

Mycroft chuckles. “That’s it?”

“Should I narrow it down more?”

“No, I am sure I can choose something. In fact I may have a few things already prepared.”

Greg makes a face and taps his fingers on the refrigerator door. “Oh my, baking without me, are you?”

Mycroft nods then makes a shooing motion toward Greg as he opens the door to the fridge. Greg grins and steps back. He walks around Mycroft, dragging one hand along Mycroft’s side and over his lower back, then pulls one chair around the side of the table so he can sit and watch Mycroft. Mycroft rummages around for a moment, pulling one container from the fridge and then another beside it. Greg smiles, threads his fingers together then props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands. Mycroft opens another cabinet and pulls out two small plates then opens a drawer and takes out some forks. He closes the drawer again then turns fully toward the counter so Greg cannot see what he is doing.

When Mycroft turns around again he holds two small plates with a fruit tart on each, a sliced strawberry lying on each plate. Greg presses his lips together and does not laugh. Mycroft steps toward the table, puts one plate down in front of Greg and the other in front of the empty chair across from the Greg. Mycroft turns back to the counter and picks up the forks. He steps back over and puts one fork beside Greg’s plate then sits down in the chair across from Greg, the other fork in hand.

“And there you are,” Mycroft says.

Greg lets out a small chuckle. “Classy.”

Mycroft raises one eyebrow. “Oh?”

Greg shakes his head. “I’m not judging.”

“No?”

Greg presses his fork into the tart, takes a bite, makes a ‘hmm’ noise then nods twice. “I love it. Thank you.”

Mycroft smiles and taps his fork once on the table. “Good. Dessert break then.”

Greg smiles, Mycroft smiles back at him and they eat their tarts, fork for fork, across the table and socked feet entwined underneath.

–––––––––

Greg sits on his couch listening to his mobile ring in his ear. Three rings then Claire picks up.

"Hi Greg, how are you?"

"Good. Got something to tell you."

"Whoa, right to it."

"Yes."

"Is this related to Mycroft?"

Greg frowns. "How did –"

"You're got your 'Claire is going to be upset' voice going."

"Other things in my life could upset you."

"Like what?"

"Uh..." Greg rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and bites his lip. "I could probably think of something."

"Just tell me, Greg."

"Got back together with Mycroft."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

“Really?”

“Just said it, didn’t I?”

He hears the clink of plates through the phone then Claire clearing her throat. "I thought you told him you never wanted to see him again?"

"I did."

"I thought you were done with him?"

"I was."

"Well?"

"Apparently I am not done with him and do want to see him."

Claire sighs loudly. "Greg, are you mad? You two have been so back and forth this year, not to mention before that, how do you know this isn't just another up before a bloody down? What is wrong with you? You are fifty years old!"

"Fifty–one."

“That doesn’t help your case.”

“It’s not a case!”

Claire groans. "Greg!"

"It's not been as bad as all that, Claire, not really. Mycroft has made mistakes, been hesitant but I've been pushy and impatient."

"Are you your own counsellor now?" Claire huffs again. "Can't you find anyone else to date?"

Greg sighs, rubs his forehead and wonders if maybe he should have called David first. "Maybe I don't want anyone else, Claire."

"Maybe you're in a downward spiral!"

"Claire, I am not in a downward spiral." Greg heaves himself up off the couch. "He broke my heart once, made mistakes; he didn't burn my flat down or steal money from me or actually hurt me."

"Your feelings count."

Greg chuckles. "That's sweet, Claire, but he has made me very happy too and I want him to continue to do that."

Claire makes a noise which Greg is fairly sure would be categorized as a growl. He hears her say something away from the phone and Colin reply. She sighs and dishes clink again.

"Claire?"

"You can do what you want, Greg. You're an adult."

“You’re evading.”

“I just said you can do what you want.”

"Claire, I want you to be happy for me. It is going to be fine."

"You have an uneven track record."

"But not the worst track record, Claire. A lot has happened and a lot changes over time." Greg chews the edge of his lip. "Look, I'm just telling you and we'll all see how it goes, all right?"

Claire sniffs and clicks her tongue. "Right."

"Good." Greg stares at the wall then walks toward his kitchen. "Look, gotta go now but feel free to call stalk me if you'd like."

"I will."

"Bye, Claire."

Greg hangs up the phone as he walks into his kitchen. He goes to his cabinet and pulls out a beer. He pops the top, get himself a glass then pours the beer into the glass. Greg blows out a breath then clicks his mobile to life again. He pulls up David's number and clicks dial.

Two rings later David answers. "Hey, Greg, sorry I've got Claire on the other line. Can you give me one second?"

Greg takes a big gulp from his glass. "Oh sure, I can wait."

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft stand side by side in the lift. Mycroft twirls his umbrella around in his hand in slow circles, tip against the metal floor of the lift. Greg shifts back on his heels, hands in his pockets. He glances at Mycroft then back to the numbers on the wall as their floor finally lights up.

“You sure he won’t just throw you out?”

Mycroft smirks as the lift doors slide open. “The benefit of his being confined to a hospital bed is that he cannot do that.”

“He can try.”

“He certainly can.”

They walk down the hall until they reach Sherlock’s room. Mycroft opens the door without knocking and shuts it again once Greg walks in. Sherlock sighs without glancing up from the mobile in his hands. Mycroft smiles in that pleased yet disdainful way that he only ever seems to use for Sherlock.

“Give it five minutes, will you both?” Greg says before they can start.

Sherlock looks up at that and raises both eyebrows. He glances back and forth between Greg and Mycroft once. He purses his lips, makes a ‘hmm’ noise then looks back to his mobile.

“Might I enquire –“

“Do you want to?” Greg interrupts.

“As to how you are feeling?” Mycroft finishes flashing a look at Greg.

Greg puts a hand palm up then looks back to Sherlock.

Sherlock tips his mobile down and smiles in a thin line. “I am splendid. Lovely of you to visit. See you later. Much later.” Then he pulls his mobile up again, thumbing across the screen.

Mycroft and Greg turn to each other. Turning sharply back to Sherlock, Mycroft opens his mouth but Greg puts a hand on his arm. Mycroft stops and glances at Greg again. Greg smiles then walks around the bed to stand next to Sherlock’s side. 

Sherlock frowns and ticks his eyes up. “Lestrade?”

“How are you really feeling?"

Sherlock sighs again.

"Can’t be happy stuck here? Assume John’s been in, help a bit with that?”

Sherlock’s mouth twitches in an odd way then he finally puts his mobile down on the sheets over his lower half. “Fortunately for me technology has advanced to points which can keep me connected as I need to be.” He shakes the hand still holding his mobile. “Do feel free to phone should an interesting case leave you baffled as usual.”

Greg breathes in through his noise slowly and he hears Mycroft scoff derisively behind him. “It is pleasing to see your usual charm has not been lost during your hospital incarceration.”

“Try to not be too pleased on my behalf, Mycroft. I would not want to disrupt your usual foul mood.”

“Oh, my mood is far from foul, Sherlock, but you may continue to try and make it so.”

“Are you both done?” Greg interrupts.

“Never, it seems,” Mycroft says.

Greg turns and gives Mycroft a look. Mycroft stares back at him until Greg tilts his head and waves a hand lightly toward Sherlock’s bed. Mycroft sighs and taps his umbrella on the floor. “I am pleased to see you looking improved since my last visit.”

“You visited?”

Mycroft purses his lips but just smiles slowly. “I did, as you know, and as I have learned from your doctors you should be free from this room before Christmas.”

Sherlock sighs. “Oh, how fortunate for all my festive plans.”

Greg chuckles. “Be a nice Christmas present, eh?”

Sherlock just gives Greg a look then reaches over to his morphine drip and presses the dosage up a notch. Greg feels Mycroft shift behind him but Mycroft says nothing.

“Going to tell me who shot you yet?” Greg asks though he already knows the answer.

“Does it amuse you to ask me the same question over and over?” Sherlock retorts.

“Maybe.”

Mycroft chuckles making both Sherlock and Greg turn to look at him. Mycroft shakes his head and just smiles at Greg. Greg turns back to Sherlock who is frowning.

“I see your relationship is still in fine form or whatever it is you two consider ‘good.’”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock,” Mycroft says from behind Greg.

Greg stifles a laugh just as Mycroft’s phone beeps. He pulls it from his pocket then turns away as he answers a call. Greg glances down at Sherlock again. Sherlock looks up at him with a serious expression now, one of his ‘time to analyze faces.’

“What?”

“My brother.”

Greg raises both eyebrows. “What about him?”

“He’s…” Sherlock frowns. “Different.”

“Hmm, maybe, why? Thought you didn’t think much about him in any respect?”

“No need to jest, Lestrade, he is still my brother despite the many aspects which I prefer to avoid about him.”

“Meaning you care?” Sherlock frowns and Greg just chuckles. “All right, maybe he’s a bit different but so are you.”

“I died and came back to life as well as being recently shot.” Sherlock clicks his teeth. “I also performed the duties of best man…”

Greg laughs. “And came through all right, minus the gun shot I suspect.”

“I try to avoid those in most instances, but,” Sherlock cocks his head. “My brother rarely changes his mind let alone his demeanor or personality. He is set in his ways and behaviors and always has been.”

Greg shrugs. “Whatever you say, Sherlock.”

“You need not patronize me, Lestrade, you are easier to read than a children’s book.”

Greg crosses his arms. “So what then?”

Sherlock’s eyes shift past Greg to Mycroft speaking softly into his mobile near the door. “Just what did you do?”

Greg glances at Mycroft, umbrella still in hand and a small smile on his face. Greg turns back to Sherlock in the bed. “I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen, Greg smiles then Mycroft clears his throat. They turn to look at Mycroft no longer on his mobile. He nods once at Sherlock then looks at Greg. “Shall we leave my brother dear back to his solitude?”

Greg glances at Sherlock. “Unless he wants to finger an attempted murderer?” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Then, yeah, head off.”

Mycroft smiles again at Sherlock. “Do rest up brother.”

Mycroft closes the door behind them then briefly touches Greg’s hair as they walk down the hall. “I trust my brother’s interrogation was within appropriate lines?”

Greg snorts. “Thank God.”

–––––––––

The paramedics, under the watchful eye of the forensics team, pull the body of a late twenty–something woman from the small pond at the entrance to Postman’s Park. Just from Greg’s eyeballing he would guess she has been in the water for five plus hours. He checks his watch, sees it is six in the morning, and checks the math in his head.

“Can we get CCTV footage from near here?” Greg says as he turns to Banks behind him. “I’d say at least midnight up to now.”

“Maybe two hours before that?” Banks suggests.

Greg nods. “If you want to reel through longer.”

He smiles. “I live for it.”

Greg nods then turns and walks further into the park. Bell crouches down beside the flower patches around the small stone column which is the center of the little park. Brooks stands a couple meters away from her on the other side of the flowers talking to Bradford. Near the building on the left Sergeant Parker talks to the couple who found the body.

“Anything?” Greg says coming up behind Bell.

She glances back at him, pen on a page in her notebook. She looks down again and points at the edge of the flower bed. Greg cocks his head then crouches down as well.

“Footprint,” Bell says.

Greg nods and stands up again. “Looks like.”

Bell only nods and makes a note in her book. Brooks walks over with a yellow evidence marker in her hand. She smiles at Greg then leans over to hand the marker to Bell.

“Marker for you.”

Bell smiles briefly and puts the marker on the stone path beside the dirt. “Someone from forensics?” She asks Brooks.

“They’ll be over soon to photograph.” Brooks clears her throat and adjusts her hat. She opens her mouth then closes it again. She looks over at Greg then back to Bell still near the ground writing in her book. “Anything from forensics about the body?”

“Not yet,” Bell says as she finally stands up. She puts the book back in the pocket of her staff vest. She turns to Greg. “Sir?”

Greg looks back and forth between them. “Don’t have an official time of death yet but probably after midnight from what I can see.”

Bell turns around and watches as the body is wheeled carefully down the path. She frowns then turns back to Greg and Brooks.

“Looked like stab wound from my initial check,” Brooks adds, taking a step to the side so she can point in the direction of the paramedics and the body. “Harder to see in the water of course.”

“But was stabbing the cause of death?” Bell asks.

Brooks smiles. “The twenty pound question, isn’t it?”

“Autopsy will help with that,” Greg says. “All right, Parker there is on our witnesses and I have Banks looking into CCTV though don’t think there are cameras right here in the park.”

Brooks shrugs. “Would detract from that green space idea, wouldn’t it?”

“And from the memories,” Bell says quietly.

Greg and Brooks both turn to Bell but she is no longer looking at them. Her gaze falls on the long wood awning and the marble squares beneath it. Bell steps forward around Brooks and walks over to the awning. She stops near the center of the memorial stones and tilts her head slightly. Brooks glances at Greg. He breathes in slowly then follows Bell. 

Greg stops beside her but she does not acknowledge his presence. Greg turns to look at the wall in front of them. Groups of eight white stones in two rows set into a wall of brick recount the selfless deeds of individuals who died saving others. Greg has only been to this park maybe a couple of times; once he can remember when he took the nephews and Kate to see St. Paul’s but that was probably six or seven years ago now. The first stone which catches his eye remembers John Clinton, _aged 10, “who was drowned near London bridge in trying to save a companion younger than himself,” July 16 1894._ Greg thinks first of the change of language before anything else, ‘younger than himself.’

“I always think when I’m here,” Bell says suddenly making Greg start slightly, “would I be the same?” She turns to Greg. “Would I have run back into a burning house, jumped in front of a carriage for a stranger? Would I have saved someone else from drowning before myself?”

“You’re a copper, Bell. You would have.”

“Would I? How do I know?”

“You know when it happens but you can’t think like that.”

“And if I don’t save them?” Bell pushes on. “If they die too, is it worth it?” She flicks her eyes to the wall for a moment and points to a stone further down. “What if I’m police constable Robert Wright and we all explode? Is it better even?”

“Bell…”

“Would I have put myself in harm’s way?” Bell says quietly.

“You don’t want to be on this wall, Bell. You want to live.” 

She turns to him again but she says nothing. 

“Sir?” Greg and Bell turn at the sound of Brooks’ voice. She walks up to them with the crime scene report in her hand. “There was a wallet in the victim’s pocket. We have an ID.”

Greg glances at Bell briefly and she nods back at him. Then he turns to Brooks and takes the report from her hand. “Wonderful, now who is our lady of the water?”

–––––––––

Greg writes a short press release on a recent case which they were able to close. The case garnered little media attention but good press for the Met in the form of a case solved is never a bad thing. The court case will not be for several months but on the police side the matter is wrapped. Greg blows out a breath as he reads over what he wrote. Then he sends the document to his superintended for approval.

Greg rubs his eyes then looks at his watch. “Twelve–ten, should get lunch.”

Greg drops his arm then smiles. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and dials Mycroft.

“Yes?” Mycroft answers on the first ring.

“Hi.”

“Oh, Greg.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Ah, well, it’s me.”

“As I hear.” Mycroft clears his throat and Greg hears rapid typing in the background. “What is it?”

“Wondering if you wanted to get lunch?”

Mycroft makes a dismissive noise. “It is quite impossible today what with Gaza and then of course the retaliation for –” Mycroft clears his throat again. “Regardless, I cannot possibly be away from my desk.”

Greg bites his lip. “Right. Of course.”

“I must be off now, Greg, good afternoon.”

“Right, bye –” the line cuts off before Greg barely finishes the word. 

Greg pulls the mobile away from his ear and stares at it for a minute. He frowns and puts it down on his desk. He clicks his teeth then pulls up his e–mail again. He has some witness detail requests to answer from a case they conferred on with drugs directorate. A friend of his, Scott Chapman, is heading that investigation and Greg likes to generate good stock where he can.

Greg’s mobile vibrates on his desk before Greg writes more than a sentence back to Scott. 

Greg picks it up without needing to check the name. “Changed your mind?”

“I apologize, Greg, there was no need for me to be short with you.”

“Well, you do work in politics.”

“I am not certain that was a joke or not.”

“Neither am I actually.”

“Regardless, Greg, I needn’t take out my work frustrations on you and I can certainly find thirty minutes for lunch with you.”

Greg smiles slowly. “You sure, what with Gaza and mysterious retaliations elsewhere?”

“I always have my phone should disaster occur.”

Greg chuckles. “Oh right.”

“And it would improve my day immensely to see you in person.”

“I’ll drive by your office and pick you up then.”

“I…” Greg hears Mycroft clear his throat in an awkward way. “You needn’t…”

“Kind of odd having someone pick you up in their car by surprise, isn’t it?”

“More pleasing when it is you. Do refrain from using your siren.”

Greg grins and minimizes his e–mail, setting his computer to sleep mode. “See you soon, Mycroft.”

–––––––––

Greg and Mycroft stand in front of David’s front door. Greg recalls a similar gathering a number of years ago when they did this before, must have been David’s birthday. He glances at Mycroft beside him. Mycroft bounces his arm against his side lightly but does not look over at Greg.

“Second thoughts?” Greg asks.

“Many.”

Greg smiles then knocks on the door. A few seconds later Edward answers the door, Timothy a few steps behind him. Edward’s eyes widen for one moment and he smiles awkwardly.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Eddie.”

Edward’s eyes tick to Mycroft but he says nothing else. Timothy smacks Edward on the shoulder. Edward blinks then steps back out of the door way hissing something like ‘bugger off’ to his younger brother. Mycroft flashes a displeased look in Greg’s direction as Greg leads them through the door.

“Good to see you both too.”

“Hi, Uncle Greg,” Timothy says, “Eddie’s just being a twat.”

“Oi, you –“

“Don’t start,” Greg interrupts before Edward begins on his own train of profanity. “And don’t say twat.”

Timothy huffs. “I’m practically fifteen now!”

“Exactly.”

Mycroft chuckles once. Edward rolls his eyes, grabs his brother’s collar and shoves him forward toward the living room. Greg and Mycroft follow after just as David walks up.

“Enjoy your welcoming party?”

“Always a pleasure.”

David grins. “Happy October, Greg.” Then he looks at Mycroft. He cocks his head and smiles less. “Mycroft.”

“David.” Mycroft glances at Greg then turns back to David, clearing his throat. “David, despite my intentions at the time, I feel I should apologize to you for my unexpected visit to your home some months ago. I imagine I put you in an awkward position nor was it appropriate for me to impose upon you for my own sake.” Mycroft breathes in once then smiles. “I may have been… rash.”

David opens his mouth, looks at Greg who feels pretty much the same way as David’s expression then David turns back to Mycroft. “I… well… right, yeah, okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

“Still have Claire to worry about though.”

Mycroft smiles with a bare amount of humor. “I have no doubt.”

Greg sighs. “Are we done for the moment?”

Mycroft and David both look at Greg. Greg waves a hand to indicate the living room. David nods and turns around so they can follow him in. Around the corner, Jane sits on one chair talking to Claire. Both women turn as the men walk in. Jane smiles and so does Claire but their expressions are very different. Greg squeezes Mycroft’s arm once then steps over to the chairs. Claire stands up and gives him a hug.

“Behave, will you?” Greg hisses in her ear.

“Sure.”

Greg pulls back, hands on her shoulders and stares at her, voice low. “I mean it.”

She nods. “I’m fine.” She holds up both hands. 

Greg narrows his eyes at her but she just smiles back.

“Claire?” She looks down at Jane. “Give him a break, yeah?”

“Which one?” Claire asks.

Jane sighs but still smiles. “You still have to show me how to fix this.” She holds up her mobile. “I need to add a lock code!”

Claire laughs. “Kids at school get their hands on it?”

“Worse, my sons.”

Greg watches Claire a moment longer then turns back around. Mycroft stands near the couch watching him. He raises his eyebrows as Greg looks at him and tries to smile. Greg wants to laugh but he is far too pleased to just see Mycroft here.

“Come on,” Greg says waving a hand to Mycroft. “Get you a glass of wine.”

“Who says we’re having wine?” David interjects from the other side of the couch.

Greg and Mycroft shoot him matching looks of incredulity. 

David laughs. “Ah, can’t fool you two!” 

“Ha ha.” Greg turns Mycroft around by the arm and walks them to the right and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Kate and Rory hover near the stove. Kate laughs at something Rory says as he adds spice to one of the pots on top.

“Poisoning us?” Greg asks.

They spin around in surprise, Kate knocking a wooden spoon to the floor and Rory almost dropping his drink. Kate laughs high when she sees them and Rory groans.

Rory points to the spoon. “Could have been dinner, yeah?”

Greg grins. “You’re the one messing with your dad’s cooking.”

“Improving it,” Rory amends.

“And we said we’d help!” Kate insists.

Greg holds up a hand. “Right, sorry.” He glances at Mycroft who appears slightly nauseated by his expression. Greg holds out a hand toward him. “Kate, Rory, this is Mycroft. You may have seen him before but formal introductions needed.”

“Yeah,” Rory mutters.

Kate smiles nervously and waves a hand. “Hi.”

"Mycroft, my niece Kate and nephew Rory."

Mycroft nods slightly. “Pleasure.”

Rory snorts then clears his throat in an attempt to cover it up. Kate flashes him a look then smiles back at Greg and Mycroft.

“Uncle Greg’s told us… well…” She clears her throat too. “It’s nice to meet you.” She holds out her hands to indicate the kitchen. “Welcome to Lestrade dinner!”

“Except you’re an O’Shea,” Rory mutters nudging her with his elbow.

Kate sighs and rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

Greg laughs then walks over to the wine rack on the wall beside the refrigerator. He pulls down a bottle of red then searches through the drawer in front of him for a corkscrew.

Behind him he hears the noise of feet shuffling. Kate makes a humming noise then squeaks and hisses ‘stop.’ 

“Nice suit,” Rory says suddenly just as Greg finds the corkscrew.

Greg turns around with bottle and corkscrew in hand. Mycroft looks at Greg then back to Rory.

“Thank you.”

“You do wear nice suits,” Greg adds and grins.

Mycroft looks at him and smiles just a bit. “Always.”

Kate giggles then clears her throat. “I’m going to… go find John!” Then she skirts around Mycroft and out of the kitchen.

Rory frowns in surprise, bites his lip then looks at Greg. Greg shakes his head and waves a hand toward the kitchen door. Rory laughs then follows after Kate. Mycroft’s posture eases visibly. Greg puts the bottle and corkscrew down on the island in the middle of the kitchen then turns to find them glasses.

“Will the whole dinner be this…”

“Awkward?” Greg offers.

“Family oriented?”

Greg laughs as he turns around with two glasses in hand. “That really what you mean?”

Mycroft takes the glasses from Greg and puts them beside the bottle on the counter. “I spend very little time with children.”

“They’re hardly children any longer. Timothy is the youngest and you heard him, near fifteen now.”

Mycroft frowns. “I do not believe teenagers are much of an improvement.”

Greg stabs the corkscrew into the cork and twists. “Maybe.”

“Certainly.”

Greg chuckles and pulls the cork out. Mycroft takes the bottle and pours them both some wine. He puts the bottle down again and looks at Greg’s glass. 

“Yeah, I know, wine but thought, why not?”

Mycroft smiles. “Of course.”

“Come on now.” Claire appears abruptly in the doorway. “You might be a bit of hot water, Mycroft, with all your waffling about but now is now and that means you need to come out here and mingle with the family.” She grins and points between them. “It is a Lestrade dinner.”

“I am a Holmes,” Mycroft says.

Claire opens her mouth about to retort then Mycroft smirks at her. 

Claire gasps. “My God, he made a joke!”

Greg laughs and really wants to kiss Mycroft. “I’m so proud.”

“It is only your influence,” Mycroft says turning back to Greg, taking a sip of his wine.

Claire chuckles and Greg sees her warming up already. “Okay then, come out of the kitchen so David and Jane can actually finish dinner!”

The three of them return to the living room. David perks up from where he sits on the couch when he sees them and stands up.

“Freeing my kitchen?”

Greg nods. “I touched nothing.”

David frowns. “Damn it.”

David passes the three of them, patting Mycroft on the shoulder as he goes. Mycroft frowns and shoots a confused look at Greg. Greg only shakes his head back. His siblings appear to be a ball of mixed messages right now when it comes to Mycroft. Greg and Mycroft sit on the couch, Jane in a chair, Claire in another with Rory, Kate, John, and Eddie clustered around the edges on an ottoman, the floor, even John on a side table. Colin has finally appeared seated nearest to the door while Timothy has alternatively disappeared somewhere. Beside him, Mycroft sits at stiff attention and Greg can tell by the points of his smile how much he would rather be almost anywhere else.

They talk for forty–five minutes about John and Kate’s first month back at school, Rory at university, mum and dad, the new greenhouse at Colin’s store, unanswered questions about Mycroft’s work, Eddie’s new interest in The Rolling Stones, Kate’s ‘reinvention’ of the color pink; isn’t Mycroft’s brother that detective guy – Mycroft goes so still Greg is worried he might murder whoever is closest; questions about Greg’s division, didn’t he lose a constable a few months back – Mycroft’s hand touches Greg’s briefly when Greg pauses a second too long; new cooperation in Jane’s school with London museums, Colin and Claire’s anniversary coming up, and where exactly is Timothy?

Mycroft never relaxes during the flow of conversation but he never scowls either.

Jane disappears at one point then ten minutes later David slides into the room, apron around his neck. “Dinner!” He holds his hands out toward the dining room to the left. “Lestrades, go feast!”

“And O’Sheas!” Kate and John say together.

Colin laughs and ruffles Kate’s red hair making her groan. Greg smiles at Mycroft. Mycroft smiles a little back then breathes in quickly as they stand up. Greg squeezes his hand.

After a long dinner – soup and potatoes and chicken and custard – the family disperses around the house, Colin declaring he will take care of the dishes.

“The men are in charge around here,” he says so Claire kisses him hard and Jane laughs into her hand.

“Don’t break my dishes,” David says.

“But he would have to buy us new ones,” Jane hisses.

David purses his lips. “I retract my last statement.”

Greg goes with Colin to get himself and Mycroft a bit more wine, only the third glass in a long dinner. Overall, the dinner seems to be going well to Greg. David and Claire threw in a few digs at Mycroft here and there. David made jokes about the terror alert level – which Mycroft deftly deflected into a commentary on the tube improvements – while Claire asked if Mycroft would still be around come Christmas. Fortunately, Greg’s angry glare cut her off for the rest of the meal and Mycroft only ground his teeth in response. In fact, Greg was impressed at how much Mycroft managed to normally socialize through the meal.

“You two all right again?”

Greg looks up from the two glasses on the counter to Colin placing dishes in the skin.

“Hmm?”

“You and him,” Colin gestures with his head toward the living room. “All right again?”

Greg smiles and nods. “Think so.”

Colin just nods back. “Good.”

Greg twists one of the wine glass stems between his fingers. He sometimes forgets about Colin, the quiet, steady gardener his sister chose. Colin and Greg do not talk much but Colin never fails to be supportive.

“Thanks Colin,” Greg says as he picks up the glasses and walks out of the kitchen again.

In the living room, John and Eddie arm wrestle in the corner, Kate rolling her eyes as she texts on her mobile beside them. David and Claire sit side by side speaking quietly. Greg looks around into the dining room almost across from the kitchen entrance to see Jane putting leftovers into plastic containers. Greg does not see Mycroft. He looks to the right, takes a guess and walks down the hall out to the back garden. Mycroft stands just outside with a cigarette in his hand. Greg opens the door, lets it fall closed behind him and steps up next to Mycroft.

“You all right?”

Mycroft takes a drag of his cigarette then slowly blows smoke out again. “Fine.”

“Brought you more wine.”

Mycroft shakes his head and holds up his cigarette. “I am content.”

Greg takes a sip from his glass then leans to the right and puts both glasses on a small, dusty table in the corner of the tiny porch they stand on. He puts his hands in his trouser pockets and looks out over the garden, watching Mycroft out of the corner of his eye.

Mycroft flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, glances at Greg, takes another puff then blows out the smoke. “I am trying, Greg,” he says as the smoke curls up. “I do hope you see this.”

“I do. I know you are.”

“I know you are subjected to the worst member of my family on a more regular basis so it should be only right I be subjected to your family, but –“

“You don’t have to explain or rationalize, Mycroft. It’s always difficult or odd or even awkward with your in–laws.”

“We are not married, Greg.”

Greg smiles. “You know what I mean.”

Mycroft ‘hmms’ and looks down at his cigarette. “I do not socialize but I am making a concerted effort.”

“I know, Mycroft, and thank you.” Greg glances at his watch. David will probably want to do a few more drinks. Sometimes the dinner nights drag on to near eleven if on a good kick. Greg turns back to Mycroft. “Want to leave?”

Mycroft turns to look at Greg. “Leave?”

“We’ve been here more than three hours. I think that’s enough to subject you to.” Mycroft still looks skeptical so Greg kisses his cheek. “This relationship thing, this ‘make an effort,’ works both ways. Can’t force you into situations you don’t like all the time, can I?”

“You don’t ‘all the time,’ Greg.”

“Still.”

Mycroft smiles. “It is your family, Greg. It is up to you.”

Greg touches Mycroft’s hand – soft skin, short nails – then looks up again. “Let’s go. You finish that and I’ll break the news.”

Mycroft chuckles quietly and nods. Greg turns around, picks up the wine glasses then opens the door back into the house. He closes it quietly behind him then turns the corner in to the hall. David stands at the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed and leaning with his shoulder against the wall. They stand looking at each other for a moment.

“Greg…”

“David?”

David looks down at the floor, chews his lip then looks up at Greg again. “I just want you to be happy and I am always on your side. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And maybe you are right,” David glances over Greg’s shoulder then looks back to Greg. “Either way, I’m on your side.”

Greg smiles. “I know, David.”

–––––––––

Greg clears his throat as he writes on the white board behind him. He lists cases, officers assigned and status.

“No,” Brooks says. “Matthews is on that one.”

Greg frowns and looks over his shoulder.

“Guilty as charged,” Matthews says.

“He offered,” Brooks says putting her hands up.

“I had a past case in Manchester with similar circumstances, substance aided murder and that particular drug. It’s still fairly new and I have some contacts who are doing research.”

Greg nods. “As you will, Matthews, always good to be on the up and up of new drugs.”

Banks and Bradford snort with amusement at the same time. Gupta chuckles and pats Matthews on the shoulder beside her. Matthews sighs but smiles for once.

“All right,” Greg says as he finishes writing. He puts the marker down then turns back around. “Everything else in line, Brooks?”

Brooks smiles and clears her throat. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Okay, so, as Brooks was so good to check over –“ Gupta chuckles again. “You all have cases at the moment. Quick thing, Parker is with us full time now." He points to Sergeant Parker in the back who waves at the room craning their necks toward him. "So, good there. Bell and Cooper recently closed the Monument Tube station case?”

Cooper nods her head toward Bell. “Well, she figured out the link between our victim and the third suspect, the violin player.”

“Violin player?” Gupta says with surprise. “Like in the station?”

“Yes,” Bell answers, “but that violin player usually plays at Canary Wharf station and this one day –“

“This one day,” Cooper jumps in, “she was at Monument and then our victim –“

“We get the idea,” Matthews interrupts. “Don’t we have more of a meeting to do?”

Half the room groans, Parker looking confused, Banks muttering “such a git, Manchester,” Avery shaking his head, while Cooper frowns dramatically in Matthew’s direction. Matthews makes a rude gesture toward Banks then looks imploringly at Greg. Greg claps his hands together once and the room quiets down.

“All right, point is, case closed, well done Bell and Cooper. Now, as some of you know there was a big drugs bust this past weekend by some of our esteemed colleagues.”

“Esteemed…” Bradford repeats and huffs.

Greg gives him a look then continues. “As a result everyone in forensics is bulled over with work, might take longer on our cases. You need something rush, tell me, I’ll make it happen. Otherwise, extra day at least for this week.”

“Right, prioritize drugs over murder,” Gupta says and flings up her hand. “Perfect sense.”

“Crime is crime,” Cooper offers.

“Pull the other one.”

Banks raises his hand while speaking. “Are we allowed to partake in the forensics analysis? Help out a little?” Banks drops his hand and grins.

Bradford, Brooks, and Cooper all groan while Matthews scoffs with a, “not funny at all.”

Greg only shakes his head. “I love my department.”

Gupta giggles. “Aw, we love you too, Inspector!”

Greg waves a hand at her. “Enough.” He points at the white board. “Keep at these. Any calls today, I am on point and I am electing Bell and Bradford to be my back up, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradford says while Bell says, “can’t wait.”

“Right.” Greg clears his throat and holds out his hand to Avery sitting closest to him. “Welcome back to Avery.” The room claps, Banks giving Avery’s shoulder a shake and Brooks nodding her head encouragingly. 

Avery turns part way in his chair to acknowledge the room before turning back again. 

Greg nods at him then moves on. “Avery is back to full status and able to assist on any cases. Brooks, I am assigning Avery to you and the homeless murder.”

“Perfect,” Brooks says as Avery says, “thank you, sir.”

“As for his month of leave, I don’t want any talk one way or the other. He made a mistake, paid for it and he has my full support. Is that clear?”

The whole room replies with, ‘yes, sir’ and ‘right, sir’ and nods of approval. Avery smiles in a thin line at Greg, sitting up straighter in his seat.

Greg glances around the room once then he motions toward the door. “Dismissed.”

The department stands up and files out the door. Greg steps over to Bell as she rises from her seat and closes her notebook. She looks up at Greg as he stops in front of her. He smiles and she smiles back at him.

“So?”

“So.”

He cocks his head. “Better? Worse?”

She breathes out a slow breath. “Better, a bit.” She chuckles once quietly. “I think. It depends on the day.”

“But you’re still here. Not all cops make it through… well.” Greg smiles. “Just saying I’ve seen people disappear after something like this.”

“He wouldn’t want that. He knew what being a copper means to me; what it meant to him. I’m not throwing that away.”

Greg frowns. “It’s not about throwing it away, you know?”

She shakes her head. “Of course, no, I know. It’s just…” She looks away for a moment, seeing something else then turns back to him. “I’m trying to not let it change me.”

Greg nods. “All right.”

“I mean…” She clears her throat. “It will. It has. Of course it has, Ted was…” She shakes her head. “I’m trying to not let it change me too much.”

“Good.” Shaking her shoulder with one hand, Greg points with his other to the doors. “Back to it then.”

Bell smiles. “Yes, sir.”

Back in his office, Greg adds two case files to his desk as he sits down. He has an open murder from near Heathrow; probably not airplane related. He opens the second case file, a consultation from another department, when he notices the small box and card next to his laptop. Greg smiles and picks up the card, a dark red. He pulls out the card, MH embossed on the front. He flips it open:

_For your case notes._

_–Mycroft_

Greg smiles and taps the card on his knuckles. Then he puts the card down and pulls the top off the box. Inside is a small, brown notebook. It looks to be the perfect size to fit in his coat pocket. Greg picks it up – feels like leather – and pulls open the magnet latch, lined paper inside. Greg puts the notebook back into the box and pulls his mobile out of his trouser pocket.

Mycroft answers on the second ring. “Hello, Greg.”

“You’re never going to stop with the surprise presents, are you?”

“If you have tired of them I can stop.”

Greg smiles and rocks his chair from side to side. “No.”

“Good. I happen to enjoy giving them.”

“You know I have a notebook or two for work already, right?”

“But this one is leather bound.”

Greg laughs. “Oh, quite right.”

“I take it you like it then?” Mycroft asks, a sound like longing in his voice.

Greg touches the edge of the red card, red like a rose, like kissed lips, like a beating heart. He reaches out and picks up the notebook again, flipping it open. This time he notices something written in the front cover and he smiles wide. “Yes, Mycroft, I like it a lot.”

The inside cover, in the bottom left corner says; 

_A gift from your Mycroft_

–––––––––

Greg wakes up from a hand running quickly through his hair and a kiss on his lips. Greg murmurs and opens his eyes. He sees Mycroft's smile for just a moment as he turns away again walking across the room. Greg watches as he moves to his wardrobe to pull out a waistcoat to compliment his trousers and shirt. Greg smiles and slowly sits up in bed. He yawns and runs a hand over his hair, no doubt messing it up more.

"What time is it?" He asks

"After seven," Mycroft says as he picks up a red tie.

Greg groans and shifts his legs around off the side of Mycroft's bed to stand up. "Oh lovely, good morning."

"It certainly looks that way."

Greg frowns and glances back to Mycroft. Mycroft smiles and looks Greg up and down. Greg laughs once and just shakes his head. He walks over to the dresser against the wall near the door. He has a few drawers now with clothes here, he thinks. Greg opens the top drawer, picks out an undershirt then pulls it over his head.

"Do I have any shirts here?" Greg asks.

He turns toward Mycroft just as Mycroft walks over holding out a white on white pinstripe shirt. 

Greg smiles and takes it from Mycroft. "Thanks."

"Must keep you looking your best."

Greg snorts as he puts his arms through the shirt. "Or at least proper for work."

"At least that."

Greg turns back to the dresser and opens the second drawer which, lucky for him, has some of his trousers. He sticks with black, pulls one out and puts them on, right leg then left leg. Greg tucks in his shirt with one hand while he opens more drawers.

"Don't I have any socks here?" Greg asks as he buttons the top of his trousers, shirt all tucked.

Greg crouches as he finally reaches the bottom drawer then stops after he opens in. On the left side sit two pale green hand towels then on the right are a number of familiar items all lined up. A gray coat lies folded into a tight square next to a watch box. Beside that is a smaller, yet still fine black box about the size for cufflinks or, as Greg knows it is, a tie pin. Above these two is a cardboard box with the image of a French press on the front, one corner ripped slightly. Above that at the top of the drawer is something long wrapped in white tissue paper. Greg picks it up and unwinds the tissue paper. Inside is a familiar champagne glass with a swirling pattern around the base. Next to the box holding the French press is another small box Greg cannot indentify.

Greg stands up, champagne glass still in his hand then turns his head to the right to see Mycroft standing beside the bed watching him. Greg looks down at the glass in his hand, twists it around once so the light from the window to his left shifts and shines.

Greg looks back at Mycroft again. "You kept all these, everything you gave me that I gave back?"

"As you see."

"Why?"

Mycroft drops his hands to his side from where they had been up at his tie and raises both eyebrows. "Do you really need to ask me that?"

"Maybe."

"I told you I never really stopped caring, merely... got in the way of myself."

Greg chuckles. He bends over again, puts the glass back down in the tissue paper then picks up the mystery box. He stands up straight and holds up it. "What is this?"

"You may remember it as the gift you sent back."

Greg frowns. "I did?"

Mycroft smiles. "It was soon after your divorce. I believe you threatened my courier with arrest if he did not take it?"

Greg hisses. "Yeah, do remember that." He laughs and turns the box around in his hand, glancing at Mycroft again. "What is it?"

"You could open it."

"Open a three year old gift?"

"Closer to four now."

Greg taps the box with two fingers then leans over and returns it to its spot in the drawer. "Maybe another time." He stands up straight again. "Leave the mystery."

Mycroft shakes his head. "Whatever you prefer, Greg."

"I prefer you."

Mycroft flushes instantly and bounces his arms against his side. He smiles. "I... good." 

Mycroft sits down on the bed, sliding his shoes, which Greg just notices, closer so he can slip his feet in. He is still blushing. 

Greg walks over to stand in front of Mycroft as he ties his shoe. Greg touches Mycroft's hair with one hand, brown with that hint of red Greg loves to notice. Mycroft looks up at Greg, sitting up again with only one shoe tied.

"You kept all those things," Greg says, "a year where you didn't even see me and you still kept all that."

"It was just a drawer, Greg, not an imposition."

Greg laughs once. "You still try those deflecting tricks with me?"

"I..."

"I'm glad you kept them." Greg purses his lips then shrugs. "Seems to mean something."

Mycroft breathes in quickly and touches Greg's hip. "I imagine a psychologist could tell me a great deal about what it could mean about my psyche and feelings in regards to you."

Greg chuckles. "Don't think you need to go through all that."

“Greg, I… about the…” Mycroft clears his throat. “I hope it has not gone unnoticed the effort I have been making in regards to –“

Greg touches Mycroft's cheek. “Mycroft, you survived a dinner at my brother’s house; think I’ve noticed the effort.”

“Not just that, Greg. I want us to be happy and I hope that you are because I am most sincerely trying.”

“I’ve noticed Mycroft and I am happy. Are you, because you need to be happy too for it all to be right?”

“Yes, Greg, I am quite happy.”

Greg smiles. “Then we’re doing it right.”

Mycroft grips both of Greg's hips tightly. "I do hope so."

"You don't have to worry, Mycroft." Greg waves a hand behind him. "I'm right here."

"I... it is not you being here, its..." Mycroft sighs. "I want to keep you here."

"I do have clothes in drawers," Greg says with a smirk.

"I am not joking, Greg." Mycroft says squeezing Greg's hips to emphasize his point. "I am certainly capable of living life without you but I... I don't... I don't want..."

Mycroft stops talking. He rubs one hand slightly up and down Greg's thigh. He shifts forward so his forehead rests on Greg's chest. Greg rubs a hand over Mycroft's shoulders, strokes his thumb over the back of Mycroft's neck where his shirt collar presses.

"Mycroft?"

"You terrify me," Mycroft whispers.

"I'm not so frightening." Greg brushes his hand over Mycroft's temple and into his hair. "I promise."

"I do not believe you."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

Mycroft leans back and looks up at Greg. "Not once."

"So?"

Mycroft stands up and slides his arms around Greg, close and warm, one shoe on and tie loose, Greg in bare feet on the wood floor. Mycroft kisses him and Greg kisses back and he thinks about presents in a drawer and promises in a car and Greg's lips say 'I trust you' and Mycroft's lips say 'I believe you.'


	5. Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Just one photo, Mycroft, I can delete the others if you like."_
> 
> _"Do you need a photo?" Mycroft says, turning back to Greg._
> 
> _"Need to look at something when you're not around me, don't I?"_
> 
> _Mycroft opens his mouth slightly and the cross of his arms eases. "Why should I not be around you?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you may have noticed that this story has changed from 5 chapters to 6. As I was writing it I got about half way through my chapter plans and had already hit 10,000 words. So, I thought it best to break it up. Did some layout shifts and here it is. So, luck for you all you get a whole other chapter. What can I say, I write a lot!
> 
> Once again thank you to my Britt pick Caz, [NumberThirteen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberThirteen), for all her help with this chapter! Any mistakes that may be left are mine.
> 
> Also, if you are interested, you can check out the additions I have done for this series. Casting: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the) and [Greg's Significant Others](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/93887095862/sherlock-please-please-please-casting) and Fanmixes: [Please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-1) and [Please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-2) and [Please, please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-3)

"Do you remember that time, probably two or three years ago, when we talked about polyester ties?"

Mycroft frowns. "What?"

"I said something about how you kept buying me expensive presents so I was going to buy you the worst, cheapest, most tacky things I could find." Greg takes a sip of his tea. "Like bobble head dogs with the union jack on them?"

"I am afraid this does, as they say, ring a bell."

Greg grins as he walks back to the table. "Well, I got you something."

"Oh dear lord..."

Greg places a small box, no wrapping paper, in the center of the kitchen table clear of their breakfast plates as he sits back down. Mycroft frowns and stares at the box as though it may spontaneously catch fire. Greg drums his fingers on the table then reaches out and nudges the box closer to Mycroft with one finger. 

Mycroft sighs and picks up the box. “I fear I already know what this is.”

Greg scoffs good naturedly. “Oh, of course. So open it then.”

Mycroft puts the box down on the table again, opens the flaps then pulls out the small object inside. Mycroft looks up at Greg. “A maneki–neko?”

“Show off.”

Mycroft gives Greg a look. “A lucky cat.”

“He even knows the colloquialism!”

“I have walked through Chinatown in my life.”

“Think they’re Japanese.”

Mycroft nods. “Oh, and I am aware of the supreme irony of that.”

Greg taps the top of the cat in Mycroft’s hands. “The gold ones represent good fortune in money. I figured work was close enough to that.” Greg grins some more. “So you should put it on your desk at MI6.”

“I do not work at MI6.”

“Don’t you?”

“I somehow feel you could have done worse than this,” Mycroft says as he puts the cat down on the table.

“I thought I should ease you in slowly.”

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. “Is that a joke?”

“Not unless you want it to be literal.”

Mycroft purses his lips. “I could easily throw this away, you are aware?”

“Easily?”

“I know the location of many a rubbish bin.”

“But then you would be throwing out a gift I gave you.”

“A ridiculous gift.”

“A thoughtful gift.”

Mycroft huffs. “Thoughtful in that you thought it was ridiculous?”

“And amusing.”

“Is it?”

Greg shrugs. “Some people actually like them, you know.”

“Some people.” Mycroft nudges the cat with his finger. “I think it is a piece of cheap porcelain.”

“Which you will keep on your desk.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “I will not.”

“But if you chuck it then you might hurt my feelings.” Mycroft glares. Greg smiles and sighs in a forlorn way. “Just think of the disappointed look on my face that changes into a brave smile. ‘If that’s what you want, Mycroft.’ How could you handle that?”

“You are enjoying this too much.”

Greg grins. “I am.”

Mycroft chews his lip. “Do you really plan to give me more of these… presents?”

Greg shrugs. “Who can say?”

“When I gave you presents in the past it was out of affection while this is…”

“Endearing?”

“Torture.”

Greg laughs and stands up from the table. “Come on, Mycroft.” He picks up both their plates and cutlery. “Have some fun.”

“With a gold lucky cat?”

“With the whole idea.”

Mycroft frowns and looks down at the lucky cat again. “Did you need to buy a gold one?”

“Would white really have been better?”

“I could have hidden it with papers.”

Greg smiles as he puts the plates in the sink. “So you are bringing it to work?” He glances at Mycroft over his shoulder with a smile.

Mycroft looks back at Greg and breathes in slowly. “I might.”

Greg grins. “Yeah?”

“If only so I can ignore it more completely when I am busy with work as opposed to relaxing at home.”

Greg steps back over and kisses Mycroft. “You’re welcome.”

––––––––– 

Greg and David sit across from each other at a table near the door of The Silver Cross off Trafalgar Square. Greg usually only comes around Charing Cross when he has a specific reason, visit to a museum when he watched the nephews or tea with the queen; since he obviously has tea with the queen. He did try to nick a spot along the square with Claire and Rory when the Tour de France came through in July; but, as it is with such races, they just saw the bikes speed by for less than a minute then ended up watching the large screens by Nelson’s Column instead.

Today Greg and David share a plate of fish and chips while they wait for Jane to arrive after a meeting at The National Gallery. Later in the spring she will be taking her students on a trip there and David thought it a wonderful husbandly gesture to meet her. Of course, David needed company while he waited.

“You’re eating all the fish.”

David scoffs. “Because I ate half of this piece?”

“We didn’t have to share you know.”

David shakes his head. “We did. My stomach can’t take so much fried food anymore. I swear I’m getting old.”

Greg sips his pint and cocks his head. “Getting?”

David shoots Greg a glare and pick up his beer. “Hate my siblings.”

“You don’t.”

“Not even close.”

Greg frowns at the diminishing meal in front of them then glances toward the bar. “I think I’m going to get a scotch egg.”

“Don’t.”

Greg’s eyes tick back to David. “Why not?”

“Because they’re called Scotch eggs.” David rolls his eyes. “Ridiculous food.”

“They’re delicious.”

David rolls his eyes again. “They're not.”

“You’re looking like your sons right now.”

“They do influence me a lot.”

“In all the best ways.”

David snorts and chews on a chip. “You’re the one wearing a tie.”

Greg looks down at himself. “I wear ties. I wear them plenty.” Greg frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

David laughs. “You know.”

Greg narrows his eyes. “I wear ties. I have always worn ties.”

“Yeah?”

Greg huffs. “Ask Anne, I have worn ties.”

“Haven’t talked to Anne in months.”

Greg does a double take. “Just months?”

David grins. “I can call who I want.”

“Just months?”

“Shh, don’t worry about it.” David takes a drink of his bear and shifts the fish around the plate. “Plus, probably won’t again. She called me insane and Mycroft did apologize.”

“You’re not making real sense.”

David nods. “I’m aware.”

Greg checks his watch and mutters. “When is Jane getting here to save me?”

“Is Mycroft coming to Christmas this year?” David asks abruptly.

Greg’s eyebrows shoot up. David looks up from his pint and raises his eyebrows back at Greg.

“Did you just invite him?” Greg asks shifting on his stool.

“Well, you’re coming, so seems likely he’d be coming.”

“But did you invite him?”

“It looks like I’m hosting again, so yeah, I did. And while we’re on that, can you buy a house again so you can take over hosting holidays sometime again?” David takes a drink of his beer. “Tired of all the cleanup.”

“You can all come to my flat any time for holidays, you know. Say the word.”

David sighs. “Right, yes, let’s all pack in.”

“We’d be creative. Lock the kids in my bedroom.”

“You’re veering down a dangerous path there, Greg.”

Greg takes a big gulp of his beer. “I take it back.”

“You know,” David says, pointing at Greg with his pint glass hand. “Mycroft could always host Christmas; he has a house, right?”

Greg chokes on his beer and just barely manages to not spit it out. “Bloody hell, no, that would not work.”

“Ugly house?”

“I can give you a list of reasons.”

David frowns. “Is ugly house on the list?”

“First off, he doesn’t like Christmas.”

David scoffs and picks up a chip off of their plate. “Who doesn’t like Christmas?”

“A lot of people don’t like Christmas actually.”

“What doesn’t he like about Christmas?” David cocks his head. “Is it the Christ bit?”

“I think it’s the everything bit.”

David’s eyes open wide. “Even the tree? You know I love decorating.”

Greg takes a chip as well and shoves it in his mouth. “Point being, he doesn’t like Christmas much so not a good idea for him to host it even if I’d do most of the hosting.”

David purses his lips and taps his finger on top of one piece of fish. “I suppose I will have to suffer through the duty once more then.” 

“You know you’re drumming your fingers on our fish, right?”

David glances up at Greg. “The fish likes it.”

“I hope not as the fish is dead and battered.”

“And delicious.”

Greg smiles and shakes his head. “So eat it then instead of fondling it.”

“Greg, why do you hate fun?”

Greg picks up another chip and wags it at David. “I thought dads were supposed to tell their children not to play with their food.”

“That’s mums.”

Greg sighs. “I sometimes wonder if you are ever really going to grow up.”

David smiles. “Perish the thought.”

Greg takes another drink of his beer, glances over David’s shoulder at the door to look for Jane then looks back to David. He taps a finger on the side of his glass then chews the edge of his lip.

“What?” David says without looking up as he dunks a piece of fish into the tartar sauce.

“Were you serious about Mycroft and Christmas? His coming and all?”

David looks up this time and smiles. “As long as you are.”

Greg smiles back, twists his glass around in his hand once then picks it up. “Guess I just need to convince him then.”

––––––––– 

Greg stands in the crime scene of a flat furnished like an Airbnb hipster, protective covers on his shoes with Avery on his right and Cooper on his left. Greg crosses his arms and cocks his head. He rubs a finger over the new leather notebook in his left hand, the edges yet to be worn. A camera flashes from Cooper's side.

"Do you think it's a full set of teeth?" Avery asks.

"Well, I'm not a doctor –”

"Dentist," Cooper interrupts.

"I'm not a dentist," Greg corrects, "but just by counting I'd say so."

"Right." Avery shifts his weight left to right. "I never could remember how many teeth you're supposed to have."

"Thirty–four," Cooper says at the same time Greg says, "thirty–two."

They turn and frown at each other.

Cooper shrugs up one shoulder. "I have two wisdom teeth."

"Thirty–two," Greg says again as Cooper smirks. "But," Greg continues, waving a hand over the scene. "That'd be the least of this poor bugger's worries."

"Yeah," Cooper and Avery say together.

"All right." Greg points his right hand at Cooper. "Get to work on interviewing the neighbors." He points his left hand crossed over his right at Avery. "Look into phone records and any CCTV of the building."

"Yes, sir," the constables say crisply.

Cooper turns away, walking behind Greg, but Avery lingers. Greg turns toward him. "Something on your mind, Avery?" 

"I just..." He clears his throat. "Wanted to thank you, Inspector, for everything you did." He clears his throat again. "Everything you did for me after... well, after what I did. Could have been a lot worse for me."

"You're a good copper, Avery."

"Thank you, sir, but I know that not everyone would have handled it like you did. Some might have just thrown me to internal affairs and bloody hell with it."

Greg cracks a smile. "Like Matthews, you mean?"

Avery smiles shyly then clears his throat a third time. "Don't know what you mean." He then pulls himself up taller. "Just wanted to say, thank you."

Greg nods. "All right, you're welcome. Now off you go on this one." Greg waves a hand behind him.

Avery smiles wide and nods, turning and walking back to the flat's front door. Greg turns back to the scene as Avery leaves then crouches down and opens the leather notebook, turning pages. He clicks his pen open and beings to draw the familiar layout of the pieces on the floor into his notebook.

"All in proper place," Greg mutters.

"Boss, your second best friend is here."

Greg turns to look over his shoulder then stands up when he sees Donovan walking toward him with John beside her.

Greg raises both eyebrows. "That make Sherlock my first best friend?"

Donovan shrugs. "Dunno, you didn't go to his wedding. Maybe John should be first." She smirks. "Though doubt Sherlock'll be married any time soon for you to compare."

John gives her an odd look then clicks his tongue. "Still so sorry you missed it, Sally." John says. "Invitation must have been lost in the mail."

Donovan frowns but Greg clears his throat loudly before she can retort. "As fun as this game is, shall we get to it?" He gestures behind him at the floor.

"Of course," John says, giving Donovan another look.

She turns to Greg but he motions with his head toward the forensics team. She frowns but turns and walks away. When Greg looks back to John, he is pulling a tablet out of his jacket.

Greg tilts his head. "Last time I heard about you being in absentia for Sherlock didn’t you have a laptop?"

John flashes the screen briefly at Greg. "Wedding gift."

Greg nods but from the tone of John's voice refrains from asking anything about Mary. John taps on the tablet, queuing up Skype as they step over to the crime scene. 

John looks up from the screen, past Greg and huffs a breath out. "God."

"Yeah." Greg points at the body parts. "Found them arranged just like this."

"Just like they would be in the body," John says as he crouches low.

"Eyes, teeth, tongue," Greg says.

"Lungs, liver, spleen even," John continues.

"No heart," Greg and John say together.

"And do you plan on ever showing me this external arrangement of internal organs?" Sherlock's voice asks.

Greg jerks slightly in surprise and John pulls back the tablet from his chest. "Take you that long to answer, did it?"

Greg hears Sherlock sigh. "I was sleeping."

"You weren't," John says making Greg snort with amusement.

Sherlock sighs again. "The body?"

"You mean the pieces?" John says as he turns the tablet around for Sherlock to see the collection of internal organs on the floor of the flat arranged just as where they would have been inside of a prostrate human body.

"Blood?" Sherlock asks.

"Only trace bits," Greg answers. "Not nearly enough for something like this."

"Unless you cared to perform proper surgery for each," Sherlock counters. "Which from the intact state of the organs may be the case."

John laughs once and Greg scoffs. "You see a surgery room around here somewhere?"

"I would assume you have searched the flat for such. As I am bed bound I cannot do so myself but the option must be considered as we have yet to know what type of killer we are dealing with. John back up."

John sighs and stands up, taking three steps backward for a winder angle of the body parts. Greg crosses his arms and glances behind him at the rest of his team, Donovan near the door speaking to someone and two forensics techs watching from where they lean against the wall. Greg gives them a look but the one just waves her hand at the scene; nothing to do until they can finish photographing and bagging parts. Greg sighs and nods at them, turning back to John. 

John glances at Greg. "Anyone determine a time of death?"

"Bit more difficult without the casing."

John huffs. "Funny."

"Sometimes you have to be."

"True."

"Shut up," Sherlock's voice says curtly.

"You shut up!" John snaps back suddenly.

Greg turns his head sharply to John. John stares straight ahead at the windows across from them, a couple meters away from their scene. John swallows once, flicks his eyes to Greg then looks down at the organs on the floor.

"All right?" Greg asks quietly.

John breathes in through his nose. "Yeah."

"Really?" 

"Just..." He shakes his head once, pausing for a moment. "Just no one is what they seem, are they?" He looks at Greg, right in the eyes as if hoping Greg will contradict him, tell him that he is wrong.

Greg scratches his thumb on his bicep. "Depends what you think you saw the first time."

John's brow furrows. He opens his mouth but closes it again without saying anything.

"John?" Sherlock's voice says, softer than before. "A tour of the flat, if you please."

"Yeah." John steps back then turns and walks slowly around the room, tablet held in front of him.

Greg waves his forensic techs toward the organs as he watches John walk further down the hall. Greg’s fingers clenches tightly around the leather notebook in his right hand.

––––––––– 

Greg sits across from Mycroft in a coffee shop a few streets away from the Met. The place is still fairly new and Greg figured they may as well try it out. The espresso tastes the same as most places and the crowds are less. Other than an overly white decor Greg thinks it could be any other café or chain that sells coffee and tea in London. 

Mycroft taps on his mobile, glances up at Greg, smiles and taps some more. Greg chuckles. "E–mail or text?"

"I do not text important business."

"Just Anthea?"

Mycroft looks up. "Anthea is possibly the fastest texter I have ever seen. It is a medium meant for her."

“So you only text her? Is she not able to e-mail or call?”

“Sometimes speed is of the essence.”

"She's kind of scary, you know that, right?"

"That is why I employ her." Mycroft taps his mobile some more, swipes his finger over the screen then clicks it off. "There." He puts his mobile down on the table and picks up his cup. "I am back."

Greg shakes his head. "It's fine."

"No, no, I am not touching my mobile for at least ten minutes."

"Ten?" Greg raises both eyebrows and takes a sip of his coffee. "Let me call the papers."

Mycroft scoffs. "If only print media were still viable."

"Enjoyable bantering aside," Greg turns his mug around in his hands. "Got something to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Christmas."

Mycroft's face shifts. "Oh?"

"You've been invited to –”

"Your family's Christmas?"

"Yep."

Mycroft licks his lip slowly, momentary distracting Greg. “Christmas?” He says.

“The holiday.”

“Christmas.”

“The one in December.” Greg taps his mug on the table. “The eve actually; twenty-fourth.”

Mycroft picks up his espresso and drinks down the entire thing. He breathes in slowly and puts the mug down again. He drums his finger tips on the table, glances out the window at the street outside. He blows out a breath and looks at Greg again. "I do hope this does not include carols?"

Greg grins.

––––––––– 

"I've never been to a play at The Globe."

"Exactly how many plays have you attended, Greg?"

Greg bites his lip then tilts his head. "That a question?"

Mycroft presses his lips together then touches Greg's hair. "Apologies, my dear, I am certainly not calling you uncultured."

Greg kisses Mycroft's jaw lightly as they step up to the ticket counter. 

Mycroft turns to the gentleman standing behind it. "Two tickets under Holmes, The Knight of the Burning Pestle." Mycroft turns to Greg as the man fingers through the tickets. "As to The Globe experience, Greg, we are going to be in the interior playhouse." Mycroft gestures behind him. "Not the iconic outdoor stage."

"Well, it’s not the real Shakespeare Globe anyway."

The man behind the counter jerks his head up and frowns. Then he looks back down at the tickets and pulls out two. He holds them out to Mycroft with a sour look flashed at Greg. Mycroft takes the tickets, turns to Greg and suddenly kisses him hard. Then he pivots in place and walks back into the lobby proper. Greg's mouth hangs open in surprise. He looks over to the man behind the ticket counter. They stare at each other for a moment then the man grins. Greg laughs awkwardly then turns and walks briskly over to Mycroft now standing in the middle of the lobby. 

Mycroft turns as Greg walks over. Greg raises his eyebrows. "Showing off?"

"Not sure that is the phrase I would use."

Greg nods and runs a hand down Mycroft's back over his suit jacket. "I'll think of something."

"Good luck."

"Right." Greg turns over his wrist and checks the time. "Still got a while before the show starts. Did you want to get dinner?"

Mycroft pulls his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and clicks it open. "In fact, we have considerably more time than dinner could fill."

"Could get a pint as well?" Mycroft looks up from his watch with raised eyebrows. Greg rocks his head from side to side then smirks. "Maybe not. Bit odd imagining you having pints."

"I have enjoyed beer in my life, Greg."

"Recently?"

Mycroft purses his lips and looks very much like he wants to kiss Greg entirely too long for the lobby of The Globe Theatre.

"We could do the tour?" Greg says gesturing behind him at the stairs which lead up to the outdoor theatre. 

"I imagine I could learn anything I should need to know about the reconstruction and the history of The Globe on Wikipedia should I desire."

"You read Wikipedia?"

"Not to mention..." Mycroft grimaces and puts his pocket watch away. "Other people."

"You've taken it before, haven't you?"

Mycroft looks away toward the cafe area for a moment then turns back to Greg. "In terms of filling our time before the play, I thought perhaps Tate Modern."

Greg frowns. "The museum?"

"You know another Tate Modern?"

Greg digs his nails into Mycroft's back for a moment so Mycroft's face scrunches slightly. Then Greg drops his arm and motions toward the front doors. "On then?"

Mycroft touches Greg's arm then the two of them walk forward and out the doors. Mycroft leads them left toward the Thames then left again, The Globe rising beside them while tourists take photos of the theatre and the city on both sides. A cluster of four America twenty–somethings rush by Greg, shivering in their insufficient coats for the English December cold. Greg chuckles as they walk, Mycroft's knuckles brushing against his. Greg breathes out, watches his breath twist in the air and disappear again. Beside him Mycroft makes a quiet noise, frowning at his mobile.

"What?" Greg asks.

"The Matisse exhibit closed in September."

Greg shrugs. "Okay?"

"It was a rare curation of Matisse's cutouts from his later career, specifically the Blue Nudes." Mycroft flashes his mobile at Greg so he catches a quick glimpse of art which looks like early primary school work before pulling it away again. "I meant to schedule a private viewing but, hmm, time did not permit it seems."

"Cut outs?"

Mycroft looks at Greg. "He created a new medium. Very influential work, Greg."

Greg clicks his tongue. "Cut outs?"

Mycroft tries to frown but it turns into more of a smile. He clicks his mobile screen dark then puts it back in his pocket. He grips Greg's hand in his other and squeezes it. Mycroft turns and looks ahead where they walk again, hand still in Greg's. Greg watches the side of Mycroft's face, slight stubble starting to show and Greg wonders if Mycroft shaved this morning or not.

"Mycroft?" Mycroft glances at Greg. "I have a confession."

"You have never been to Tate Modern?"

Greg laughs. "No, I have. Claire loves Tate Modern." Mycroft raises his eyebrows. "She works in advertizing and majored in design at university. Tate Modern is a playground."

Mycroft chuckles politely. "And you the unwilling companion on her romps?"

"Colin and David have been forced to come too."

Mycroft chuckles again. "Perhaps she saw the Matisse?"

"Not with me if she did."

"Then what is your confession?"

Greg looks ahead of them again and clears his throat. "I haven’t been to a play at all before."

Mycroft starts to laugh for real. He sidesteps so he bumps against Greg as they walk. Greg smiles, touches Mycroft tie, and then slides them closer to the stone wall overlooking the Thames. Greg fishes in his pocket for his mobile. Once he finds it, he lets go of Mycroft's hand and jogs slightly ahead.

"Greg?" Mycroft asks.

"Stop." Greg says as he turns around toward Mycroft again.

Mycroft frowns, slowing down but does not stop walking. "What?"

Greg holds up his mobile. Mycroft stops and steps out of frame toward the wall. "No."

Greg smiles, shifting with Mycroft’s movement. "Come on, Mycroft." He makes a contrite face. "I can count the number of pictures I have of you on one hand."

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "I am sure it is not that little."

"Are you? I don't use CCTV screenshots like you."

Mycroft opens his mouth in offence so Greg clicks the button on his screen. Mycroft frowns instantly and Greg clicks another shot.

"Stop it," Mycroft hisses and walks forward again toward Greg.

"If you stay still and pose I could take a good photo." Greg shrugs slightly. "Not that I am against candids. Can work just as well."

Mycroft sighs, arms crossed and looks out at the Thames. Greg clicks a third photo then takes one step closer to Mycroft, just an arm's length away.

"Just one photo, Mycroft, I can delete the others if you like."

"Do you need a photo?" Mycroft says, turning back to Greg.

"Need to look at something when you're not around me, don't I?"

Mycroft opens his mouth slightly and the cross of his arms eases. "Why should I not be around you?"

Greg drops his arm holding up the phone and he breathes out the air in his lungs. Greg stares at Mycroft for a moment then smiles slowly. "I..." Greg looks down and flips his mobile around in his hand once. He looks up again. "You're right. No reason at all."

Mycroft steps over to Greg then takes the mobile out of his hand. He holds it up, clicking the screen. He swipes across the screen, 'hmms,' then hands the phone back to Greg. "Certainly not my worst photos."

"You don't want me to delete them?"

"It is your mobile, Greg. It is under your control."

"I feel like that might not actually be true."

Mycroft chuckles once. "Are we going into the Tate or would you prefer we stand out in the cold until our play begins?"

Greg reaches out and touches Mycroft's face, a line over his skin and his hair, warm against the cold of Greg's fingers. "You know there's a lot of romantic things I could say right now, yeah?"

Mycroft nods. "But I imagine I already beat you to it?"

Greg laughs quietly. "Noticed that, did you?"

Mycroft only smiles. He turns Greg around by his shoulders then pushes Greg forward at the small of his back. "Come, let us give you another round of culture based on what your sister has already begun."

"So it is a day of 'give the boyfriend culture?'"

Mycroft huffs. "You and that word."

"Tell me to stop then."

Mycroft chuckles quietly then kisses Greg's cheek. "I will not."

–––––––––

“Right,” Greg says as he stands up from his chair and walks around to the front of his desk. “I don’t know if you two are going to be happy about this but got to tell you anyway."

"Uh oh," Banks laughs. "Giving us the boot?"

"No, no," Bell admonishes, "would need HR for that."

"Oh good, we're safe!"

"You done?" Greg asks. Bell smiles and Banks makes a 'go on' motion with one hand. Greg clears his throat. "So, you’ve both been awarded special commendations from the superintendent.”

Banks raises his eyebrows. “Us?” He points between himself and Bell. “Why?”

Greg leans against his desk and crosses his arms. “It’s from our case in August.”

Bell’s face falls. “August?”

“You can't mean –”

“Of course he does, Martin,” Bell interrupts. “Why?” She grinds her teeth and clearly controls herself from saying a string of curse words. “Why would they do that?”

“It’s a show of appreciation for a hard case, Bell.”

“Ted died!” Bell snaps. “He died on that case and they want to give us commendations for that?” She spits out the word ‘commendations’ as if she could not think of a fouler thing to say.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Banks says.

“Oh!” Bell scoffs. “The point? Maybe that is the point?” She glares at Banks for a moment and looks very much like she wants to hit him. Then she turns back to Greg. “Commendation then? You can tell them to shove that commendation right up their –”

“Bell,” Greg interrupts sternly and holds up his hands. “Try to look at it for what it is, a show of support.”

“But it was a failure!”

“No, it wasn’t, Bell. We caught those involved and closed the case. It was a loss not a failure.”

“I…” Bell breathes out heavily and nods. “Yes, I… I know.”

“You don’t have to like it –”

"I don't."

"But try not to assault any of the higher ups, okay?” Greg finishes

Bell laughs weakly. “Think I can manage that.”

“But it’s okay if I do?” Banks asks.

Bell laughs for real this time, rubbing a hand across her face then bumping Banks with her shoulder. He grins at her then Greg. 

Greg nods at both of them, smiling as well. “All right, all right. Congratulations and now feel free to forget all about it.”

They nod then turn and walk out of his office just as Brooks, Donovan and Matthews appear in his doorway. 

Greg uncrosses his arms. “Sergeants?”

“Detective Inspector,” Brooks says.

“There a reason all three of you are standing in my doorway, don’t think we have a serial killer case on at that moment.” He frowns. “Unless you have something to tell me?”

Donovan laughs at the same time Matthews scoffs. Brooks just shakes her head. “Not quite that avenue, no.”

“Well then?”

“It’s December, why do you think we’re here?” Brooks says with a smirk.

Greg frowns and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Don’t I tell you lot every year not to do this?”

“At least we’re not doing it at a meeting,” Donovan admonishes. “Feel a bit less under the spotlight then?”

“Don’t know why it should bother you.” Matthews pulls a box from behind his back, drumming his fingers on the sides. “Most subordinates give a holiday gift to the boss.”

“And you make it sound ever so exciting, Brian,” Brooks says with an eye roll.

Matthews shakes the box. “I didn’t pick it.”

“Are you going to give whatever it is to me and get it over with or just block my door?”

Donovan takes the box out of Matthews’ hands then steps in and holds it out. “Whole department chipped in of course but we three pulled rank to get to give it to you.”

Greg cracks half a smile. “Should I be touched?”

“In the head maybe.” Brooks quips.

Matthews laughs once making Brooks turn to him in surprise but he schools his features quickly. They turn back to Greg as he takes the red wrapped present from Donovan. She takes a step back but they wait in the doorway instead of leaving. Greg sighs, though he is smiling, and quickly unwraps the box. He puts the box down on his desk briefly, balls up the paper and tosses it toward his rubbish bin. He makes the shot and Brooks ‘whoops’ quietly. Greg smiles at her then picks up the box again. He rips the one piece of tape off the flaps and opens it up. 

He stares for a minute then looks up again. “Who’s idea was this?”

“Well, Sally first proposed it,” Brooks says.

“Gupta had the same idea,” Donovan says to Brooks. “She uses one at home, ‘always tastes better.’”

Brooks chuckles. “Of course.”

“Well?” Matthews insists.

Greg pulls the bag of coffee beans and the French press out of the box. He drops the empty box on the chair in front of his desk and puts the coffee and press down on his desk.

“We know you had one before,” Brooks says. “But it disappeared a while ago.”

“Bloody kitchen thieves,” Matthews mutters.

"This one is an extra nice one, stainless steel!" Brooks insists.

Donovan gives Greg a look but says nothing.

Greg nods. “Thank you very much. It’s very thoughtful and work appropriate.” Donovan and Brooks both chuckle. Matthews just shakes his head. Greg taps the top of the press. “You can tell the rest of the division I approve."

Brooks salutes sloppily. “Will do.”

“Can I get back to real work now?” Greg asks.

“What a novel idea,” Matthews says flashing a look at the women.

Brooks rolls her eyes and Donovan glares back at him.

“Make that a yes, all right?” Greg stands up straight. “Go solve some cases before we’re all on holiday!”

“Yes, sir,” the three of them say together and finally walk out of his door, Donovan grinning at him as she goes.

Greg walks back around his desk and sits down again; quite a contrast of meetings for him. Greg swivels his chair to face his laptop and continues to type up his yearly report which he started last week. As he types, his eyes keep darting to the French press on the edge of his desk. He smiles and thinks perhaps he should text Mycroft something about ‘great minds’ if only to make Mycroft laugh.

–––––––––

Greg reaches up to hang another obviously child made ornament near the top of the Christmas tree standing next to the front windows in David’s living room – chairs rearranged to give it room. The ornament looks like something Timothy probably made a number of years ago due to the prevalence of purple on an otherwise normal reindeer. On the other side of the tree, Kate and John keep giggling then shushing each other in turn. Greg isn’t sure if the giggling is due to odd ornaments or Mycroft standing huffily beside Greg. The twins certainly seem to have taken an interest in the newest addition to family functions.

Mycroft sighs and holds up the box again toward Greg. Greg chuckles and picks up an innocent silver ball this time. “Stop sighing.” Mycroft only frowns. “You could help. It would go faster.”

“I have told you before my dislike of this holiday. Tree decorating is included.”

“Spoil sport,” David says as he appears on Greg’s other side holding tinsel.

“Oh, dear lord,” Mycroft sneers at the silver mess in David’s hands.

David grins and holds out a handful toward Mycroft. “Come on, join the party. The water is fine.”

“I dislike your metaphor.” Mycroft steps away then puts the box down on the coffee table along with the other boxes of decorations. “And swimming.”

David blows out a breath of air and clucks with his tongue. “Scrooge McDuck!”

Mycroft huffs and picks up his mug of tea from the table near the ornament boxes, taking a quick sip. “Christmas, is an infuriating holiday once possibly religious in nature, which is another issue entirely, but is now completely commercial and –”

“Down, Plato,” Greg says putting a hand on Mycroft’s chest. Then he looks at David – who is grinning like an idiot – and whacks him with the back of his hand. “And stop trying to rile him up.”

“I don’t that.”

“You do,” Greg and Mycroft say together.

David laughs instantly. “Ah, I missed this.”

“Shut up,” Greg says as Mycroft sighs yet again and drinks more of his tea.

From the other side of the tree Kate and John burst into laughter. Greg leans around David and shoots them a glare. Kate only grins as she hangs a candy cane on the tree while John bites his lip to keep himself quiet beside her. Greg shakes his head which only makes Kate smile more. Greg leans back around as David begins methodically putting tinsel on the tree starting near the top.

“Anyone interested in mead?” Jane’s voice calls from the kitchen.

“Yes!” David, Greg, Kate and John all say together turning as one toward her voice.

Jane steps out of the kitchen, a glass in each hand and hair falling in her eyes from a hastily put up messy bun. She gives a glass to David, kissing his cheek, then hands the other to Greg. 

She points at Kate and John. “No.” They groan at the same time and same pitch level. Jane shakes her hand. “No. Sorry.”

“Aunt Jane!” Kate insists. “It’s not fair!”

“You are fifteen, Kate, wait your turn.”

“We’re fifteen not ten, Aunt Jane!” John insists. “It’s close enough.”

Jane shakes her head. “It’s not.”

Mycroft huffs derisively as he sits down on the couch. Greg shoots him a look but Mycroft only shakes his head. John keeps pouting toward Jane as she walks back to the kitchen but Kate gives Mycroft an annoyed look.

He tilts his head at her and smiles. “Trust me, my dear, you are hardly missing out.”

“You don’t like mead?” David says as he takes a big gulp from his mug, hissing slightly from the temperature. “But it’s so honey delicious!”

“I accept the honey in that statement, not the delicious.”

“What about egg nog then or is that too Christmas, could infect you?”

“Oi,” Greg interrupts before Mycroft can retort. He points at David. “What did I say?” He motions to Kate and John. “You’re worse than them.”

David grins. “I have to defend my title!”

“Of most irritating?” Mycroft asks.

David waves his free had at Mycroft. “See? He knows.”

John snorts and Kate sighs, tossing some tinsel off of the tree at David though it misses and floats to the floor. Mycroft’s eyes tick to the tinsel but he does not stand up to fix anything. Greg leans down, picks up the tinsel then puts it in Kate’s hair. She purses her lips trying to look upset but ends up smiling instead.

“You’re welcome,” Greg says and takes a sip of his mead.

Greg hangs a gold ball on the tree then he steps around David and the coffee table to sit beside Mycroft on the couch. He rubs a hand over Mycroft’s knee quickly then looks at him. Mycroft holds his tea in one hand, the other propped up on the arm of the couch so he can rub a circle on his temple. Greg chuckles and Mycroft drops his hand onto the arm of the couch. He raises both eyebrows in question.

“I think you’re secretly enjoying this.”

Mycroft huffs. “Am I?”

“What else would you have been doing on Christmas Eve, sitting at home reading reports from Iceland?”

“Iceland?”

Greg shrugs. “First country that came to mind.”

“Interesting choice given the lack of any ice here to inspire you but I understand the image you were attempting to create.”

“And that you are enjoying yourself.”

Mycroft breathes in slowly and taps a finger nail on his tea mug. “I am enjoying your presence.”

“Just his?” David pipes up suddenly. “I’m crushed.” He puts the last bit of tinsel from his hands onto a low branch then pivots in place. “Mycroft, do we not amuse you enough? What could be a better Christmas Eve present then a night with the Lestrades?” David grins and holds out his hands to indicate the room and people in it.

Greg hears quiet laughter coming from the kitchen. Mycroft stares at David. David wiggles his fingers, arms still out stretched.

“I suppose this is not the worst place I could be.”

David gasps, Greg laughs and Mycroft smiles. Then the front door opens with a bang making Greg and David jump. Mycroft takes another sip of his tea.

“Hello!” Claire’s voice calls as she comes around the corner with bags in her hands and Colin and Timothy behind her.

“Did your siblings simply decide to trade offspring today?” Mycroft asks absently.

“Tim isn’t much on tree decorating this year.”

Mycroft sips his tea again. “I sympathize.”

Greg shakes his head and speaks low. “Think it’s more the height thing he’s upset about.”

Mycroft purses his lips. “Well, puberty does come for us all in time.”

“Right,” Claire says to the room as she weaves through it. “I have presents and food.” She looks back and forth between Greg and David. “Who exactly is cooking this time? Please tell me it’s you,” she says as she stops on Greg.

Greg smiles. “I am willing to serve.”

“In the sense of cooking and not of holding plates?” Claire asks with a half grin.

“Yes.”

“Praise be!” David says as he picks up two nearly empty boxes of ornaments. He hands one to Kate and one to John. Then he claps his hands together. “There better be ham in one of those, Claire.”

“In here there is,” Colin says holding up his bag.

“I helped pick it out, dad,” Timothy adds as he flops down into a free chair near the wall.

David nods. “My new favorite son.”

“Speaking of,” Greg asks. “Where are Rory and Edward?”

David frowns and picks up the last box on the table, swinging back around to face the tree. Timothy laughs as he pulls out his mobile. Greg turns to Claire in confusion.

Claire clears her throat and puts down the two bags in her left hand beside the cough. “Well, Rory has been claimed by his girlfriend’s family for the night and as for Edward.” She glances at her twins who are giggling again then back to Greg. “He thought the party invite he got was better than family for tonight.”

“A party?”

David makes a loud huffing noise but does not turn around again.

Timothy chuckles, eyes fixed on his mobile. “Dad tore him a new one but he still went. Probably end up grounded on New Year’s.”

“Maybe,” David mutters.

“Oh yes, who would want to miss this fun?” Mycroft says with sarcasm.

David turns around and throws a wooden ornament shaped like a sleigh right at Mycroft, hitting him in the center of his blue tie. Mycroft yelps quietly and stares in offended surprise at David. Claire laughs once then ‘tut tuts’ at Mycroft as she walks to the kitchen with her last two bags.

“You threw an ornament at me!” Mycroft says still staring at David.

“Yep!” David hangs a mini snowman on the tree without breaking eye contact with Mycroft. “Don’t make me rescind your invitation, Mr. Grumps–a–lot.”

“David,” Greg says plaintively.

“I love you,” David says to Greg as he puts the top back onto the empty ornament box.

“Is this how normal families behave?” Mycroft asks turning to Greg.

Greg rocks his head back and forth. “Yes?”

“No,” Kate and John say together as they walk away from the tree, empty boxes in hand.

“Put these away, will you?” David asks, handing his box to John and pointing at the other two. Then he swoops his finger around and points at Mycroft. “’Maybe’ is the correct answer.”

Mycroft cracks a smile for one moment then takes a drink of his tea to hide it. Greg touches Mycroft hair briefly and thinks of sunflowers in Italy, the cold feeling of paint on skin and Mycroft’s eyes in the morning.

“Okay, we’re out!” Claire says so Greg jerks again in surprise. He turns to see her and Jane leaving the kitchen, Colin crossing behind them toward the dining room. Claire waves a hand back toward the kitchen. “All yours when you want it, Greg.”

“Are we doing dessert?” Jane hisses to Claire.

“Did you plan on it?”

Jane makes a face. “No?”

“I can assist with that, if there is a need.”

Every head in the room turns to stare at Mycroft. Colin steps back into the living room from the dining room and Timothy tilts his mobile to the side to look around it with a frown. 

Mycroft smiles in an awkward way and his hand clenches around his mug. “Or not?”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Greg says as he stands up, Mycroft following a second after. “Now we’re going to retreat to the kitchen. Try to control your surprise.”

“Impossible,” David says.

Mycroft clears his throat and follows as Greg walks to the kitchen. Greg waves his glass of mead at the room and gives them a completely unserious glare. Colin laughs, David grins and Claire presses her lips together, giving him a look. She glances at Mycroft then back to Greg with a small shrug.

In the kitchen, Mycroft leans against one counter watching Greg move about the kitchen, pulling out cookware and ingredients and starting the stove to heat up.

“I imagine this dinner will be more enjoyable then a full day spent with my own family,” Mycroft says as Greg preps.

“They can’t be that bad.”

“Sherlock is out of hospital now. It will be.” He drinks the last of his tea. “It is also Christmas.”

Greg chuckles. “You know, I’ve never met your parents.”

Mycroft tilts his head. “I’ve never met yours.”

Greg nods. “Mine are in Fiji.”

Mycroft nods back. “Mine are in England.”

Greg stops for a moment, hands on the counter. He looks out the window, one finger tapping against the marble. Then he steps back and looks at Mycroft. “Do your parents know about me?”

Mycroft blinks. “What?”

“Do your parents know about me?” Greg slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “Don’t talk to my parents all that much, traveling as they do now, but I have told them about you. Mum wants to know if you’re more like Anne or Shawn.” Greg cracks a smile. “She thinks I have two types and not along a gender line.”

“And which am I?”

“You’re you.” Greg tilts his head. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Mycroft clears his throat and puts his empty tea mug down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I am not accustomed to speaking with my parents about such things… rare as they are.”

Greg swallows and looks away. “So, that’s a no?”

“No.” Greg looks back to Mycroft as Mycroft turns to look at him. “I have told them.”

Greg smiles a little. “Oh.”

“They invited you to Christmas tomorrow, in fact, but…” Mycroft shifts his weight slightly. “Well… I hoped if I went on my own I would be able to leave sooner.”

“Were you going to use me as an excuse to leave your parents’ on Christmas?”

Mycroft smiles slowly. “The thought crossed my mind.”

Greg laughs, steps forward and kisses Mycroft once. “You’re something, Mycroft.”

Mycroft runs a hand down Greg’s back and kisses him again. “I will take that as a compliment.”

“Which for some reason reminds me.” Greg takes a step back and pulls a thin, tissue paper wrapped present out of an inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Here. First present of Christmas.”

Mycroft sighs. “Oh dear.”

“’Oh dear’ is right, open it.”

“Would this not be better opened later?”

“No.” Greg waves a hand as he walks over to the shopping bag with the ham in it. “I have a proper present for you for later. This is your horrible and tacky present.”

Mycroft sighs. “You are still on that path?”

“Open it.”

Greg pulls the ham out of the bag and picks a pan out of a lower cabinet. Mycroft turns the tissue paper over twice, squeezes it then looks at Greg again. Greg can tell Mycroft already knows what it is. He sighs then rips the tissue paper. He pulls out the polyester tie and stares at it.

He turns to look at Greg. “You managed to find orange paisley?”

Greg grins. “Orange and purple paisley.”

Mycroft makes a shuddering, gasp type of noise and puts the tie down on the counter. “I am at least impressed by your ability to cause me nausea at the sight of formal wear.”

Greg laughs once. “You’re welcome.” He puts the ham in the pan then steps over to Mycroft again and kisses him. “Happy Christmas.”

Greg tries to step back but Mycroft holds him there. Mycroft’s eyes circle around from the top of Greg’s face and down to his lips. He kisses Greg again, slides their tongues together, ‘hmms’ in his throat so it vibrates against Greg’s lips; Mycroft tastes like tea and Greg knows he tastes like honey. Mycroft kisses him hard, kisses him softly, sighs into the kiss.

Mycroft clenches his fingers against the small of Greg’s back as he pulls back enough to say, “Merry Christmas, Greg.”

–––––––––

When Greg opens his flat door Boxing Day morning, Mycroft stands on the other side, tie loose, top button undone and lines under his eyes that scream ‘no sleep.’

“Mycroft?”

“My brother murdered someone last night,” he says.

Greg stares at Mycroft for two beats then grabs his arm and pulls him into the flat. Greg shuts the door sharply and whirls around. “He what?”

“Murdered,” Mycroft repeats with a weary tone, “surely you heard me?”

“I… who?”

Mycroft sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Probably.”

Mycroft drops his hand and stares at Greg. “Does it matter, Detective Inspector?”

Greg breathes in slowly. “No.” Greg breathes out in a huff. “No, but… Sherlock, he…”

“I assure you, Greg, it was not an accident or self–defence. I watched Sherlock do it. The man may have been of ill character, manipulative, certainly someone that could have one day posed a real threat but there are other ways, there always are! And Sherlock he… Sherlock shot an unarmed man in the head with no regard or care or thought to what would happen to himself at all! Sherlock shot him!” Mycroft gasps hard and has to put a hand against the wall.

Greg steps forward and pulls Mycroft against him. Mycroft wraps his arms tightly around Greg, fingers digging into Greg’s sides. For a moment Greg thinks wildly that Mycroft is crying but Mycroft just breathes, in, out, in, out. Greg runs a hand up and down Mycroft’s back, cards his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. 

“Shh, come on.” Greg pulls back slightly, runs his thumbs over Mycroft’s temple. “Come on, sit down.” Greg walks Mycroft back into his living room and sits Mycroft on the couch. “Let me get you something, tea, coffee?”

“No, no.”

“Whiskey?”

Mycroft looks up with a vaguely surprised look. Greg turns, walks back into his kitchen and quickly searches his cabinets. He must have something. He finds a bottle a third full and grabs it. He finds a glass, gets ice from the freezer then walks back into the living room.

“Here.” Greg forces the glass into Mycroft’s hand and pours in some of the bourbon. “Drink some.”

“Hardly wise.”

“Just take a sip.”

Mycroft takes a gulp instead, hisses once then puts the glass down on Greg’s coffee table. Greg puts the bottle down next to the glass then sits on the couch beside Mycroft.

“I thought he had put aside his business with Magnussen.” Mycroft rubs his hands over his face. “He cannot usually hide that much intent or planning from me. If he is around me I can tell when he is up to something even if I do not know the details.” He drops his hands again. “John was with him, my laptop, I cannot imagine what he originally intended. He certainly did not go to that house with murder in his original design; my brother is not that stupid.”

“But?”

Mycroft turns to look at Greg. “But somehow that was the result, the unflinching result.”

“Where is he?”

Mycroft’s eyes shift back to the table. “MI6.” Mycroft sighs again as he picks up the glass. “In a cell.”

Greg reaches out toward Mycroft’s shoulder but pulls back without touching Mycroft. “What will you –”

“Greg,” Mycroft interrupts. “Can we simply sit for a moment?” He takes another sip from the glass and leans back against the couch. He turns his head to Greg. “Can I simply sit here with you?”

Greg nods and speaks quietly, “Yeah, of course.”

Mycroft nods back, the hand holding the glass resting down on the couch. Mycroft closes his eyes and breathes out a slow breath. He reaches over with his free hand and grips Greg’s. Greg squeezes Mycroft’s hand and does not let go.

–––––––––

“Are you sure I should be here?” Greg asks as they walk down the gray, nondescript halls. 

“I would rather not do this without you.”

Greg almost makes a snappy remark, something all too David, but stops himself because this is not a situation or time he wants to ruffle Mycroft in anyway. Instead he just nods and follows alongside Mycroft, keeping pace with Mycroft’s crisp, professional walk. He doubts anyone they pass on their way would dare stop Mycroft for anything less than nuclear war right now. The few people they do pass only nod curtly in greeting, a few tensing up and one man looking near terrified as they breeze by. 

They ride a lift five flights down, lower than Mycroft’s own office which is actually in another building, if Greg is keeping track correctly. When they get out on the lower floor the light is dimmer, the doors steel and it feels like they just walked into communist Russia except for the one British flag against the wall across from the lifts. Greg shoots Mycroft a look but Mycroft keeps staring straight ahead as they turn a corner. They hit a gate bisecting the hall and a man seated next to it behind a desk. He looks up as they stop, sees it is Mycroft and sits up straighter.

“Mr. Holmes, sir.”

“Number fourteen.”

The man nods, “Yes, sir.” He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a key, handing it to Mycroft. Then his eyes shift onto Greg. “Is your –”

“Yes, he is.”

Greg’s eyes tick to Mycroft but he says nothing. The door buzzes and they walk through, the gate clicking shut again behind them. They stand just inside the gate for a moment, Mycroft staring off down the hall.

“So?” Greg asks.

Mycroft breathes in through his nose and only cocks his head slightly, shifts the coat in his hands onto his other arm. Then he steps forward. They walk past doors down the hall until they stop in front number Fourteen. Greg cannot see inside because a metal slide blocks the small window.

“What are you going to do?” Greg asks Mycroft as they stand in front of the door.

“What I have to.”

“You always do what you ‘have to,’ but…” Greg whispers and glances back at the door. “This is your brother.”

“I have done everything for him.” Mycroft looks at Greg again. “Everything, my whole life but there has to be a line, does there not?”

“You can’t tell me that you don’t care, Mycroft.”

Mycroft scoffs. “Oh, yes, caring, but that’s not the point is it?”

“The point is, Mycroft, you may not care about many people but, taking myself as an example and everything you’ve done for Sherlock before, I know it’s not just duty. It’s Sherlock in there and…” Greg rubs a hand over his forehead. “Can you do anything for him?”

“He killed a man, Greg, and despite the morals of that particular man or Sherlock’s reasons, Sherlock’s actions are irreversible and punishable.”

“I know.” Greg touches Mycroft’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Mycroft sighs quietly and squeezes Greg’s hand. “This is the line, right now. I may care about him more than nearly anything but…” He looks away. “You are not the only one who has to uphold the law.”

“I know.”

“I have spoken to my colleagues; they have agreed to an alternative to prison for him as his particular personality, you might imagine, would cause more unrest in the prison system than is warranted for the incarceration of one man.” Mycroft’s jaw clenches. “One murderer.”

Greg frowns. “Then what?”

Mycroft reaches out, slides the key into the lock on the door and turns. The lock clinks, Mycroft pulls the key back out then opens the door. Mycroft steps inside, Greg following after and leaves the door open. Sherlock sits on a bench that could be a bed or a chair or just a slab of concrete attached to the wall. His trademark coat is gone and his suit jacket is folded into a square at one end of the stone as likely some sort of pillow from the nights he has spent in the small room. Sherlock turns his head as they walk in. He glances back and forth between them before settling on Mycroft. He does not appear surprised Greg is there.

“So?” Sherlock asks.

Mycroft breathes in once. “You will be transferred tomorrow.”

Sherlock cocks his head. “Not to prison?”

“No, I do not believe that work out well, do you?”

“No.” Sherlock narrows his eyes, looks at Greg, then back to Mycroft. “If not to prison then where? I know you are not considering letting me go.”

Mycroft sighs. “You certainly made that impossible.”

Sherlock presses his lips together tightly but says nothing. 

Mycroft breathes in and looks at the wall above Sherlock’s head. “Eastern Europe.”

Sherlock frowns. “What?”

“Your job offer. It is renewed and you are compelled to take it.”

Sherlock opens his mouth then narrows his eyes. He laughs once in a breathless, surprised way. “I didn’t think you actually had it in you.”

“We may bicker and pass sarcasm, Sherlock, but I meant what I said on Christmas. I have no desire to lose you!” Mycroft suddenly snaps.

“Then why?”

“You gave me little choice, Sherlock!” Mycroft says with venom. “What in God’s name possessed you to be so incredibly idiotic?”

Sherlock looks away. “I made an error.”

Mycroft stares. “You call murder an error?”

Sherlock turns sharply back to Mycroft. “That was not my error. That was the only logical choice left to me; certainly you can see that with the damning situation John and I were in?”

“I see you should have never been there in the first place! What information did he have which you desired so much that you chose to threaten National Security, my position and your own safety? What could possibly have mattered that much?”

“What exactly would it matter to you?” Sherlock snaps back suddenly standing up into Mycroft’s personal space. “I made a choice. I chose to protect what mattered to me and I did. It was not what I intended, it is not what I planned but I do not regret what I did!”

“What you did was ruin yourself!”

“It does not matter!”

“It matters to me, Sherlock, as it should matter to you. Why would you –”

“I protected him and I am not sorry and if your punishment for me lies across the continent then so be it but do not pretend that –”

“Pretend that what, Sherlock? That I care?”

“Do you, Mycroft? What do you know about caring?”

“Certainly more than you!” Sherlock laughs harshly but Mycroft presses on. “I want you anywhere but here but you murdered a man and neither of us can take you back from that no matter how much I would wish to!”

“Oh yes!” Sherlock snarls.

“If only you had not been so incredibly stupid!”

“Stop!” Greg finally shouts, shoving the brothers apart. They both look at him in surprise as if they’d forgotten he was there. “I don’t think you want to fight now, do you?”

Mycroft breathes in slowly and takes one step back. Sherlock turns away, looks at the wall before he turns back again, hands on his hips. The two of them stand in silence for a minute until Mycroft clears his throat making Sherlock look at him.

“Eastern Europe.”

“Yes.”

“You will be briefed on the assignment and will depart tomorrow.”

“I see.”

“Sherlock, I… what I said before…”

Sherlock’s jaw clenches. “Six months?”

“It is not certain. You could –”

“You are never wrong.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He opens his mouth but Sherlock shakes his head and Mycroft closes it again. Mycroft clears his throat and pulls himself up a little taller. “Prove me wrong then, Sherlock.” He clenches his teeth. “Please.”

Sherlock glances at Greg then back to Mycroft but he says nothing. Mycroft’s hand twitches at his side and his shifts his weight forward then back.

“Just bloody hug him,” Greg mutters.

Mycroft steps forward and pulls Sherlock into a loose hug. Sherlock holds his hands out to the side stiffly before slowly placing his palms weakly against Mycroft’s shoulders. He shoots Greg a confused and accusatory look. Then Mycroft lets go and steps back again.

“One of my aids will come today and give you further instructions on the undercover work. I shall accompany you to the plane tomorrow.” Mycroft nods. “Good day, Sherlock.”

Mycroft crosses in front of Greg and reaches the door frame just as Sherlock says, “Mycroft?” Mycroft and Greg look back at him. “May I ask one thing?”

“Yes?”

“Can you bring John with you tomorrow?” Sherlock clears his throat quietly. “To say goodbye?”

Mycroft stares at Sherlock for five seconds then he nods and walks out the door in the same moment, shoving the key at Greg with a shaking hand. Greg looks at Sherlock but cannot think of anything to say. So he smiles a little, steps through the door and closes it behind him. Greg stares at the floor as he turns the key in the lock. He looks up again down the hall. Mycroft is stopped half way between Sherlock’s cell and the gate. Greg pulls the key out of the lock and walks down to Mycroft. Mycroft stares off into the distance, face blank and tense.

“Mycroft?”

“I’m surprised it took me this long.”

“What?”

“His motivation. Of course I should have known, her background was always vague.”

“Who’s?”

Mycroft smiles in his professional way, glances at Greg then takes the key out of Greg’s hand. He shakes his head. “It is my fault. It all leads back to me.”

“What?”

“The whole point led to me; that was what Magnussen wanted in the end.” Mycroft huffs. “I underestimated him. Sherlock did not. It is my fault.”

“I don’t understand what you’re going on about, Mycroft,” Greg says, “But it’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

“People make their own choices, Mycroft. Can’t all be yours.”

Mycroft clicks his teeth then smiles at Greg. He nods once though Greg can see he is not convinced. “Well, what’s done is done.” He turns back toward the gate and steps forward. “Onward.”  
–––––––––

Greg bursts through the department door and strides through the desks toward his office. “Anything? Do we know anything? Come on.”

“No.” Donovan jogs up and walks steadily alongside him. “Just that it’s everywhere.”

Greg frowns. “Everywhere?”

“Every TV, even the big megaboards; he’s there.”

They stop beside a TV set up next to Matthews’ cube. Matthews and Bell stand in front of it, Avery typing on Matthews’ computer. Cooper slides over next to Donovan and hands her a piece of paper.

Donovan frowns at her. “Nothing at all?”

“Had a trial enough trying to get through as it was with all the calls they are getting but the BBC is in the dark too.”

“We’ve got to be able to trace it somehow and if it’s not coming through them –”

“It could be anyone, I don’t know.” Cooper sighs. “How do you broadcast over the television network of London like this?”

“Who says it’s just London?” Matthews mutters.

“Someone you can call in Manchester?” Greg asks Matthews. Matthews nods and pulls his mobile out of his trouser pocket. Greg turns to Cooper. “You too, Lisa, anyone in your Somerset office; call them.”

“Moriarty is dead.” Bell waves her hand at the face on the screen still declaring ‘did you miss me’ in its distorted puppet fashion. “We even had a staff meeting on it! He is dead!”

“I’m right there with you, Bell,” Greg says. “But need to press on and find out what we can.”

“But he’s dead!”

“I heard you!”

“Sir?” 

Greg turns to Banks beside him. “Got something?”

Banks frowns. “Not exactly. Can tell that it definitely looks like a hijacking job but how exactly he was able to hijack every television signal around the city isn’t clear.” Banks sighs and holds out a sheet of paper, Donovan leaning over Greg’s shoulder to look at it. “Can’t tell where the signal originates either; it’s being bounced around through intermediaries.”

“Give that to Gupta,” Greg says pointing at the paper. “See if she can make any more out of what we do know. Show Cooper as well once she’s available.”

Banks nods as he turns away. “Yes, sir.”

Matthews reappears at Greg’s side with a quick nod. Greg breathes out quickly and rubs a hand over his face. He turns back to Matthews. “Where is Brooks?”

“I – I don’t –”

“Find her and the two of you get over to the BBC; best point of contact on this to find out what the bloody hell is going on. And Avery.” He turns to Avery as he stands up straight from the computer terminal. “Get down to the morgue and find the records on Moriarty. This had better not be real and I want a death certificate to prove it.” He claps Avery on the shoulder. “And send Bradford over to City Police before they try to do anything without us.”

Greg turns on his heel as Matthews and Avery spring into action, Donovan following him. Greg pulls off his tan jacket as he walks into his office and throws it in the direction of his filing cabinet.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Donovan says, “but what about Sherlock?” Greg looks up sharply with the receiver of his desk phone in hand. Donovan cocks her head. “If Moriarty really is alive wouldn’t Sherlock be the first one he comes for?”

Greg almost says ‘he’s gone now’ then bites his lip. A light bulb clicks in his head regarding the timing of Sherlock flying out of England with this little video surprise.

Donovan frowns. “Greg?”

Greg puts the receiver down in the cradle and stands up straight again, hands on his hips. “If Jim Moriarty’s really been alive all this time then he could’ve come for Sherlock whenever he wanted.”

“Maybe he really believed Sherlock was dead too?”

“And Sherlock’s been alive again for more than a year.”

Donovan shrugs. “Still?”

“I’ll handle that. You get with Bell and see if there is anything more in that message than meets the eye, all right? He likes to play games. Let’s see if he’s starting one.”

Donovan huffs. “I’d say that’s a ‘yes’ straight off.” Then she turns away out of his door again.

Greg picks up his phone receiver once more and dials. 

Molly answers after only one ring. “God, Greg, did you see –”

“Oh, I saw. Avery is coming to you, need to see the death record, have to know if anything was off.”

“Of course, I – of course. It just…” she gasps. “It just can’t be!”

“Sherlock couldn’t have been alive either.”

Molly clears her throat. “Well…”

“Just get whatever records or information you have, Molly, please?”

“Right, will do.”

Greg hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. He fists his hands and closes his eyes. Greg squeezes his hands hard then blows out a breath. He opens his eyes again, clicks his laptop on and pulls his mobile out of his pocket. He sees two texts from Mycroft. Both simply say, call me.

Greg clicks dial, puts the phone to his ear and Mycroft answers before the first ring is over. “Meet me in your parking garage in twenty minutes.”

“I –”

Mycroft hangs up again before Greg can get another word out.

Twenty–two minutes later Greg walks out of the stairs into the parking garage just as Mycroft climbs out of the back of a black car parked in the middle of the driving lane. They walk briskly toward each other and stop less than a meter apart.

“Are you all right?” Mycroft asks.

“Am I all right?” Greg huffs. “Are you? Is Sherlock?” Greg glances at the car behind Mycroft. “Is he…”

“Sherlock is not with me but neither has he left England.”

Greg nods. “So what is this? Do you know? Can you…” Greg frowns a little. “Can you tell me?”

“I can tell you honestly, I do not know. Not yet at least.”

Greg huffs and puts his hands on his hips. “Bloody hell.” He shakes his head. “It has to mean something, right?” He looks up at Mycroft. “Sherlock going off to God knows where exactly the same day we get this?”

“I am certain it does and it cannot be anything good which is…” Mycroft swallows. “Greg, Sherlock may be Moriarty’s favorite play thing but I am not excluded from his games. He has ruined operations for me in the past, used Sherlock against me. If it is in fact true he or someone left over from his organization is starting something new then…. Then you…”

Greg’s jaw clenches. “Then I what?”

“Then you could be a target as well. He went through John to get to Sherlock in the past; went through Sherlock to get to me. And you are next in line.”

Greg huffs. “In line?”

“It is a possibility and I do not want you in danger.”

Greg stares for a beat then growls, “you damn well better not be saying what I think you are."

“Greg…”

“You promised!” Greg hisses.

“I am not saying that.”

“No?”

Mycroft steps closer and shakes his head. “I am not running away from you.” 

Greg cocks his head and takes a step forward. “Not even to try and protect me?” 

“Running away would not protect you.” 

Greg smiles a little and his tense shoulders ease. “Damn right.”

Mycroft smiles back. “I often am.”

“So what then?”

Mycroft tilts his head to the side and clicks his tongue. “So, Sherlock has a new mission here in London and you and I keep a close watch on each other should this turn into something even bigger.”

Greg grins. “Right.” Greg nods and suddenly grips Mycroft’s hand. “Won’t take my eyes off you.”

Mycroft purses his lips and smiles. “And neither will I.”


	6. Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He glances at Greg again with his brush just above the canvas. Greg smiles, tea cup in front of his lips, and Mycroft smiles back at him. Mycroft turns back to his canvas, brush moving carefully and Greg rests his tea cup on his thigh. He thinks, this could be every day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has kept up with this long and winding series I never meant to write. It have very much enjoyed venturing into this pairing and creating this world and a life for our two boys. Special thanks to Caz, [NumberThirteen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberThirteen), my amazing britt pick who found me and made this story even better than my best laid plans. It has been endlessly rewarding and all of your kudos and comments have meant the world to me. 
> 
> And as always, if you like, you can check out the additions I have done for this series. Casting: [Main/Family Lestrade](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89661131977/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-greg), [The Yard](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/89676001582/sherlock-please-please-please-casting-the) and [Greg's Significant Others](http://sunnyrea.tumblr.com/post/93887095862/sherlock-please-please-please-casting) and Fanmixes: [Please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-1) and [Please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-2) and [Please, please, please](http://8tracks.com/sunnyrea/please-please-please-part-3)
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading as the series comes to a close.

Greg and Mycroft sit on the small couch beside Mycroft’s front windows. Mycroft sips a glass of wine while Greg has a beer. The grandfather clock – grandmother maybe, if those even exist – says the time is quarter till midnight. The New Year will be coming soon. Mycroft does not own a TV, so no watching celebrations in the center of London. Mycroft slides his hand absently along Greg’s thigh as he takes another sip of his wine. Greg touches Mycroft’s hand as he glances behind them out the window.

“Stop.”

Greg turns back. “What?”

“Do I need to tell you how many times you have looked out that window in the past hour?”

He frowns. “You’re the one who wanted to sit in the window.”

“It is a couch.”

“Right in front of the windows. A perfect shot.”

“No one is attempting to shoot me or you.”

Greg tilts his head. “You sure?”

Mycroft finally turns to look at him. “We cannot live every moment waiting for some supposed gun shot, Greg.”

Greg grits his teeth. “We don’t need to invite it either.”

Mycroft pulls his hand away and puts his glass down on the windowsill behind him. Then he turns back to Greg. “I know you are worried; such a display as we all saw and nothing to follow but that is how this man works. He plays games. If he were to come for me, or you even, it would not be a shot through my window.” Mycroft holds out his hand to the window. “Far too easy.”

Greg sighs and sits back against the couch. He rubs a hand over his face then drops it again. “I don’t like waiting.”

“You may be waiting for nothing.”

Greg glances at Mycroft. “You believe that?”

“No.”

Greg huffs. “Well then?”

“Greg, he is dead. We know that but that message obviously means something. I cannot tell you everything I am doing to investigate it but I assure you I am.”

Greg laughs once. “So no point in worrying about it, that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, I worry constantly, Greg, but I always have something in process. There are levels.” Mycroft turns and picks up his wine again. “We may as well enjoy the last day of the year together, yes?”

Greg takes a gulp of his beer. “All right, fine, you’re right.”

“Usually.”

Greg tries to suppress a smile. “Bit of cheek, yeah?”

“I imagine you would be distressed should it disappear after how you've worked to cultivate it.”

“I would.”

“As would I.”

Greg chuckles. “Okay.” He takes another drink of his beer then puts it down on the floor. He stands up and walks away from the couch. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

“Well,” Greg says as he walks over one of Mycroft’s cabinets against the wall. “Since Christmas was a bit interrupted I didn’t get to give you your proper gift.”

“Not just a horrible orange tie you mean?”

“And purple.”

Mycroft makes an uncomfortable noise. “And purple.”

Greg turns the old brass key in the lock and opens the cabinet. “Plus, you gave me your gift, which I love.”

“You needed some nice shoes.”

Greg only chuckles as he pulls a long flat box off the files stacked on the top shelf.

“Hmm. I had wondered why you ‘needed’ to know if that cabinet was classified.”

Greg puts the box on the edge of the chair nearest to him. “Well, never can be too careful in your house and with your cabinets, Mycroft.” Greg turns back around and closes the cabinet again. “Might have an assassin in one of these.”

Mycroft sighs.

Greg turns the lock, turns around and picks up the box. “Actually more likely to find your security, Anthea I bet!”

“Anthea is not my personal assassin.”

“Meaning you share her?”

Mycroft presses his lips together and Greg knows he is trying not to smile. Greg walks back across the room and sits down beside Mycroft again, avoiding his beer on the floor. He shifts back to allow space between them then holds out the box to Mycroft.

“Merry Christmas.”

Mycroft holds the box, looks down at the purple ribbon wrapped around the width and made into a bow in the center, no wrapping paper. He taps his finger once on the box then rests it in his lap. He slides the ribbon carefully off one end and lets it fall to the floor. He lifts the top off of the box and puts it aside leaning against the wall. He opens the two flaps of tissue paper to reveal a light gray coat inside.

“You bought me a coat once, if you remember.”

“I remember it is in a drawer upstairs,” Mycroft says quietly.

Greg smiles. “I should take it out again.”

Mycroft pulls the coat up and out of the box, the bottom still hitting the tissue paper. The coat is double breasted with black buttons; not long like Sherlock’s trademark coat but long enough that it would hit Mycroft around his knees. Mycroft glances at Greg from around the edge of the coat.

“I thought you could use a change.”

Mycroft looks back at the coat, rubs the wool fabric between his fingers then puts the coat back down in the box. He looks up at Greg again. “Thank you.”

“Know it's not as grand as all your usual but I hope you like it.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Greg grins. “You’ll have to wear it constantly.”

“I plan to.” Mycroft picks up the box off of his lap and puts it on the floor near the box top. He slides closer and kisses Greg. “Thank you.”

“You already said that.”

“I felt a coat deserved more than once.”

Greg chuckles and kisses Mycroft again. “Well, that’s all right then.”

“Good.”

They lean back again and Greg’s eyes tick to the windows, dark with street lights and not too many people, most probably in pubs or at parties.

“Greg…”

Greg looks back. “I know, I know. I can’t help it.”

“As I said before, we cannot live our lives waiting for a man to appear at the door and threaten bombs or death.”

“Or at Sherlock’s door?”

“At anyone’s door.” Mycroft clicks his teeth. “I work in such intelligence, Greg, and I know the multitude of threats which are present every day. I also know how to combat them.”

Greg purses his lips. “So we’re never safe?”

“Or we always are.”

“Trying to sound positive?”

“Perhaps you rub off on me more than you think.”

Greg laughs despite himself. “There’s a joke in there.” 

Mycroft just smiles slowly. 

Greg nod then leans down and picks up his beer glass. Mycroft picks up his wine and clicks it against Greg’s glass.

“You know, this is our first New Year’s together.”

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. “It was also our first Christmas.”

Greg nods. “Add a couple of firsts then. Not sure I’d chalk up the Christmas as perfect.”

Mycroft’s face shifts. “No.”

“But New Year’s is good,” Greg says suddenly touching Mycroft’s knee. “Quiet like you wanted.” He taps one finger against his glass. “And this is good beer.”

“I would never buy you subpar beer.”

“Lucky me.”

“Greg… I… I just…” Mycroft clears his throat. “I cannot tell you how much you… how…”

Greg reaches up and squeezes Mycroft’s hand. “I know, Mycroft.” Greg glances at the clock then back to Mycroft. “Looks like it’s time for that count down.”

“Must we actually count it? I always felt that seemed very…” Mycroft makes a displeased face. “Indoctrinated.” 

Greg huffs with a smile. “You really over analyze sometimes.”

“Group chanting is –”

“Nu–uh, stop.” Mycroft abruptly closes his mouth. Greg nods and squeezes Mycroft’s fingers again. “We don’t have to count though.”

Greg glances at the clock, looks down at his watch and sees the second hand hit, eight, seven, six –

Mycroft touches Greg’s cheek and kisses him on three.

–––––––––

Greg sits at the table in their big conference room with half the department also seated around it. He rubs one hand against his forehead while tapping his pen on the file in front of him.

“Nothing? How can there be nothing?”

“We tried to trace the signal but it was fed through a splitter.” Gupta makes a fanning motion with her hands. “It bounces the originating signal out through dozens if not a hundred different satellites. It makes the source impossible to trace.”

“Not to mention that even when we try to follow one specific lead,” Cooper adds, “that signal is split as well. So every access line to the original source is diverted at least twice.”

“How can that even be done?” Brooks asks. “Wouldn’t you have to track every signal then?”

“Not exactly, it’s a computer program,” Cooper answers.

“But couldn’t we trace that program somehow then?” Brooks waves a hand in the air. “Isn’t there a marker or something?”

Gupta laughs once in a weary way. “Unfortunately, programs don’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want me to explain computer theory to you?” Gupta smacks the table lightly. “Sorry, I didn’t take the theory course.”

“I’m just –”

“We get the point!” Matthews interrupts. “We can’t trace the signal so what can we do?”

“Thank you. Matthews,” Greg says and points to Avery with his pen. “Did we find anything in the clip itself? Any embedded information? Any background sound? Anything?”

Avery bites his lip. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Greg frowns. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s just a hacker clip,” Gupta grumbles.

“Just how much time did you spend making those?” Cooper mutters back.

“I was not a hacker!”

“No?”

“Were you?”

“Back to point!” Matthews snaps.

“The clip isn’t even video,” Avery says. “It’s an image with sound and graphics cut in. There is no background sounds to be recorded and the audio itself is distorted.”

“So, the voice could be anyone.” Greg drops his hand from his forehead. “No proving that any of it is really Moriarty.”

“I could still try some voice recognition software, just in case?” Donovan offers.

“Who else would it be?” Banks asks. “Who would impersonate someone who is supposed to be dead?”

“I can give you a list of identity thefts,” Brooks says.

“But like this, splattered across the telly?” Banks shrugs. “Why?”

“That is the question,” Greg says with a sigh. He looks down at his file again, turns the pages past the reports about the broadcast signal, the BBC. “Have we heard anything about Moriarty’s ashes?” Greg looks at Bell. “Thought we should have those by now.”

Bell purses her lips. “Soon.”

Greg raises both eyebrows. “That your term or the morgue’s?”

“They said this week, don’t have an exact day.”

Greg sighs again and makes a note at the top of his page. “What about the crimes we know he was connected with? Matthews, you were looking into any contact he might –”

“Haven’t we had enough of this?” Bell interrupts.

Every head at the table turns to her.

Greg puts his pen down. “Bell?”

“We’re not getting anywhere. We know we’re not. We’re just hitting our heads against the wall!”

“We can’t do nothing, Mari,” Brooks says putting a hand on Bell’s shoulder.

Bell shrugs her off. “Oh, enough! We don’t even know enough to know of that stupid video was real or just a hoax. The man is dead!” Bell reaches over to Greg’s file and pulls the death certificate out. “We know that!”

“We have to investigate,” Matthews interrupts. “We are the police, Bell, or have you forgotten?”

Bell scoffs. “Throwing insults?”

“We don’t know what it could mean, Bell,” Banks says. “We have to try and find out. Just because it’s hard –”

“She’s not saying –” Cooper starts.

“I wasn’t insulting her, I was –”

“She didn’t say that either, Banks,” Avery says quietly from Cooper’s left.

Banks holds up both hands. “I’m not ‘he said, she said–ing.’” 

“The point is,” Bell says again to regain attention, “we have no proof about where that video came from, what it could mean or whether it is even real! The man is dead!”

“Sherlock Holmes was dead too,” Brooks says.

No one responds. Greg leans back slowly in his chair and crosses his arms. Everyone turns to look at him, Bell crossing her arms as well and Matthews shaking his head.

“I get your point Bell.” Greg looks at her for a moment then turns back to the table at large. “We’re not tabling this, not yet, but I know you all have other cases.” Greg sits up again, closes the file in front of him and slides the stack near his elbow to center. “All right, Banks, you and Cooper need to work on your Jubilee line double homicide. Waiting on finger prints, right?”

“One is back as no match so far,” Banks replies.

“Right, see if Parker can spare time if you need.” He looks up at Brooks. “You have the murder in Regent’s Park?”

“Have a working theory on that one; think it might be an employment dispute.” Greg raises his eyebrows at her. She taps one of pieces of paper on her pile. “Have to work some leads.”

“Get Bradford to assist on that.”

Brooks nods her assent.

“Right, as for the rest of you, I know you all have witness statements, CCTV footage and reports piling up on your desks which need attending to. So, on it.” He knocks his knuckles on the table. “As for Moriarty and video fun, I’ll be on it and no doubt will have Sherlock round to annoy us all.” The coppers all smile or laugh quietly. “Dismissed.”

Greg stands up as his staff files out of the room, Gupta and Brooks speak softly but animatedly as they go. Greg drops the Moriarty file on the top of his pile. He stares at the nondescript cover for a moment then picks up the stack and heads toward the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Greg walks into the morgue. At first everything seems quiet, the lights dim and the room sterile. Greg walks in further, hears quiet speaking and rounds the corner. Molly stands beside a body, chest open and some organ in a hanging scale – might be the heart? Greg walks toward her, Molly not turning to him until he is almost beside her. She starts slightly then sighs behind the mask over her face. She pulls off one latex glove then leans over to the laptop on the table behind her and clicks a key.

“Greg, hi,” she says as she pulls her mask down with her ungloved hand.

“Hi.” He looks down at the corpse on the table. “Autopsy?”

“No, just some fun.”

Greg frowns. “What?”

“Oh, I was… I was joking.”

“Right.”

Molly clears her throat. “Yes, autopsy, though pretty clear cut strangling case.” She pulls off her other glove and drops them into a biohazard bin near her feet. “So, what are you looking for?”

“No body right now, came to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, wanted to just check on you what with that Moriarty video before the New Year.” Greg taps his fingers against his thigh then smiles. “I remembered you were seeing him before, well… before we knew who he really was and all.”

“God…” Molly closes her mouth quickly and stares at him.

Greg almost looks behind him because of the way Molly stares. “What?”

“I just… I’m just surprised.”

“Oh well, I know it was a while ago, your seeing him, but don’t think he’s the type to forget.”

“Yes, that, I… just surprised you’d think of me.”

Greg cocks his head. “You did help Sherlock fake his death.”

“Sherlock’s death, not mine.”

“But you helped him and Sherlock’s death is what Moriarty wanted; might come back to you as well.”

Molly grips the edge of the metal table and looks away at the wall of drawers. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’m not saying it will or that all that was even real. He is supposed to be dead after all.”

“He has to be,” Molly says, looking back at Greg. “Sherlock saw him shoot himself. How would he fake that?”

Greg shrugs once. “That’s the question.”

Molly chews the edge of her lip, eyes coasting back and forth as she looks down at the body in front of her. She nods twice then looks up again at Greg. “Well, I haven’t had… I mean, nothing strange has happened to me.” She cracks a smile. “Nothing stranger than the normal post mortems.”

Greg smiles back. “No notes stuck inside a chest cavity saying ‘did you miss me?’”

Molly laughs for real at that and shakes her head. “Happily, no.”

Greg nods. “Well good. Be sure to bag it and send it up should you get one.”

Molly smiles. “I will.”

Greg clenches his fists once, glances at the scale hanging between them. The organ inside the scale is not a heart, looks like kidneys. He glances back to Molly, smiles then turns back toward the door.

“Greg?”

He turns around again. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for thinking of me.” Molly waves a hand vaguely in the air. “I’m sure he’d never bother with me – if he were even really alive – but thank you for thinking about me all the same.”

Greg smiles. “Of course, Molly.”

–––––––––

Greg walks through the front door of the Diogenes, checking his mobile to make sure it is on silent as he does. He only gets five steps in before one of the employees – guards, maybe – stops him. Greg opens his mouth then closes it again. However, before he can attempt sign language the man motions past him down the hall in a clear 'follow me' gesture. They walk down the hall together, past two lounges and up a set of stairs Greg has not seen before. They stop at the second heavy–looking, dark wood door and the man unlocks it with an old fashioned gold key. Then he steps back. Greg turns to him and raises both eyebrows. The man stares for a moment then smiles just a little before turning away. 

Greg twists the door knob and steps into the room. Greg closes the door behind him and sees a room similar to the privacy room he met Mycroft in before, a desk near one wall, three bookshelves full up and a small bar with glass tumblers against a wall with paintings of monarchs. The rest of the room has a number of leather chairs and couches with plush, feather pillows. Mycroft lies on one couch, head on two pillows, eyes closed, no suit jacket or waistcoat, tablet dark over his lap.

Greg chuckles to himself. "Sleeping beauty."

Greg walks over and sits on the edge of the couch, catching Mycroft's tablet as it starts to slip to the side. Mycroft breathes in audibly but does not open his eyes. Greg smiles and places the tablet to the side on a chair. He turns back to Mycroft, scoots up a little with a gentle nudge to Mycroft's knees. Mycroft breathes in again, his fingers clench slightly and Greg knows he's awake.

"Hi."

Mycroft opens his eyes and smiles. "Greg."

"Do you often fall asleep in public places?"

Mycroft circles two fingers in the air where they rest on his stomach. "Hardly public."

"Not your house either." Greg points at the door. "Could anyone just walk in?"

Mycroft sits up slightly against the pillows. "I left instructions for only three people allowed to disturb me."

"Anthea, Sherlock and me?"

"Sherlock was not one of them."

Greg snorts. "Oh right." He smiles. "Glad I made the cut."

Mycroft smiles back. "Would that I could have made it just a list of one."

Greg leans over, hand in Mycroft's hair, and kisses him. Mycroft kisses Greg back, slides his hand up along Greg's side under his suit jacket. Greg sighs, kisses Mycroft again and very seriously thinks about taking off Mycroft's trousers. Then Greg leans back, touches Mycroft's hand. Mycroft threads his fingers with Greg's then sits up on the couch. He holds his other hand out for his tablet.

"Haven't been here all night with work have you?" Greg says as he picks up the tablet and hands it to Mycroft.

"As always." Mycroft swipes his finger across the tablet. "Terror never sleeps."

"Feel like you've said that before."

"It remains true."

Greg purses his lips. "Still." Mycroft looks at him. "Should sleep at home. You have a bed there. I've seen it."

"You've slept in it."

"And more."

Mycroft grins. "I recall."

"I'd hope."

Mycroft chuckles and taps his fingers over the screen in some one handed amalgamation of typing. Greg watches him a moment then glances around the room, wondering where Mycroft's jacket might have gotten to. He looks back again, Mycroft still tapping.

"Have time for breakfast?" Greg asks.

"Hmm," Mycroft says absently.

Greg reaches over and suddenly takes the tablet out of Mycroft's hands. Mycroft opens his mouth to retort with obvious annoyance but Greg holds up a finger. "Breakfast? I would have made it for you if you'd been home."

"Greg..."

"Just trying to instill in you the idea of sleeping in a bed as opposed to a couch."

"It is not as if I do this often."

"Yet."

Mycroft gives Greg a withering look. "You should be well aware of how I value my comfort."

"I don't know, some of the chairs in your house..."

"Greg."

Greg hands the tablet back. "Couldn't hurt to have a break at the late hour of eight–fifteen AM to get yourself some breakfast with a charming officer of the law, could it?"

Mycroft lets the tablet fall flat against his thighs. He watches Greg for a moment then smiles in a fond way he rarely uses.

"What?"

"You would do this every morning, wouldn't you? Make breakfast, smile, bring your causal humor with the sun."

"What?"

"If it were every morning."

Greg cocks his head to the side. "If it were every morning waking up with you in the Diogenes?"

Mycroft chuckles in his polite way. "As I said, your casual humor."

"I have direct humor too, even serious humor."

Mycroft presses his lips together but he is still smiling. Then he knocks his knees into Greg's back. Greg scoots to the far side of the couch so Mycroft can move. Mycroft shifts forward and slides his legs off over the side so he sits parallel beside Greg now. He puts his tablet down on the couch and looks at Greg again. Then he stands up and crosses the room toward the far desk. Greg sees Mycroft's coat draped over the chair now as well as Mycroft's signature umbrella nearby. Mycroft picks up the jacket and slides his arms through, rubbing away nonexistent wrinkles.

"It would be," Greg says. Mycroft looks up at Greg. "Every morning." Greg threads his fingers together and rubs his thumbs over each other. "I do like to cook after all."

"Even simple breakfast?"

"I could make it complicated too."

Mycroft chuckles. "I am sure I would enjoy it."

Then Mycroft picks up his umbrella and walks back over to the couch in front of Greg. Greg flips the cover closed on Mycroft's tablet, picks it up then stands up in front of Mycroft. He holds out the tablet. Mycroft wraps his fingers around Greg's on the tablet and kisses him. "Thank you."

"Have time for some breakfast now?" Greg asks.

"As long as you join me."

"As long as it's somewhere we can talk."

"Certainly."

"And as long as you stop sleeping at your club."

Mycroft laughs for real this time, kisses Greg again. "As you wish, Greg."

–––––––––

Greg sits across the table from his parents, three plates in between them and a candle that would have been lit had it not burnt itself out already. Greg’s father carefully spears one piece of chicken at a time with his fork, eating slowly like it is a project. Greg’s mother eats her pasta in between words about Iceland and Prague and Australia – maybe, might have been Atlanta she said or Alaska, did they even go to the US? They were not on a cruise this time, just a trip and Greg has really given up trying to keep track.

Greg has never been entirely close with his parents. The pair spent most of Greg’s childhood fighting with one another and attempting to pit the children against each other. Greg would never say that his parents were necessarily bad parents. They raised their children with plenty of food and schooling and clothes and roofs and holiday dinners and Christmas Trees and laughter; but they also fought and yelled, were petty and bitter and forgot that their children could hear and see everything they said. The result was the trio of children bonding in an ‘us versus them’ mentality while cultivating three extraordinary senses of humor. A psychiatrist might say they are avoiding issues or using coping mechanisms; Greg thinks they just saw their parents and learned how to do the opposite.

Luckily for Greg’s parents, however, after their children were grown and gone they decided to finally see a psychiatrist and learned how to fall in love again. And travel. Their reconnect seemed to center around constant travel. Greg wonders where the hell all the money for it comes from. It is possible his parents have been drug lords the whole time. It really makes no sense, their whole blasted life actually, and Greg tries not to think too hard about it.

Still, as a result of fifty plus years of ups and down, Greg hardly knows what to say to his parents most of the time, so he just lets them talk.

“And that was Sydney. Now Greg.” Greg looks up at his mother from his nearly empty plate at the sound of his name. “You must give in and tell me about this young man of yours.”

“We’re hardly young anymore, mum.”

She and his father chuckle. “Certainly younger than us, Greg.”

“I’d hope so.”

“We still haven’t met him.”

“Yes.”

Greg’s mum purses her lips. “I hear something implied in that tone.”

Greg clicks his teeth. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Mum, you two are out of country constantly, what do you expect?”

“Needn’t be defensive, son,” Greg’s father says as he cuts another piece of his chicken.

Greg clears his throat and resists the glare he wants to give. “I’m not.”

“Oh, Greg, come now, how long have you been seeing this man and we have yet to even put a face to a name, let alone an actual visit!” Greg's mum cocks her head and gives one of her disapproving ‘mum’ looks that Greg believes only mothers can really do. “Is a photo really so hard?”

“Told you before you’re hard to keep track of, couldn’t well send you one if I can’t find you.”

She waves a hand at him. “You have a mobile.”

“What?”

“You have a mobile. Doesn’t everyone have all their photos on their mobiles these days? You must too.”

“I… well…”

“Unless he’s not real,” Greg’s dad mutters.

Greg snorts and smiles. “He’s real.”

Greg’s dad looks at him and raises both eyebrows so Greg thinks of David. “Really fit?”

Greg rubs one hand over his face and shakes his head. “Dad!”

His mother giggles. “Should have known he got that from you all along, Paul.”

“My eyes are only for you, darling.” Greg’s father kisses his mother’s cheek.

“Except when we were in Hawaii.”

“Oh now, I don’t believe I was alone in that.”

Greg’s mobile buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out while his parents practice teasing romance. It is a text from Mycroft:

_[19:02] I trust your meal is progressing as expected?_

Greg smiles and texts back.

_[19:02] Counting down the minutes until it is over._

_Mycroft [19:03] Their second wind romance cannot be more trying than any theater with my parents._

Greg snorts quietly.

_[19:03] The last one was months ago. Not over it yet?_

_Mycroft [19:04] I will never be ‘over’ sitting through a production of “The Phantom of the Opera.” I fear organ music has been forever ruined in my mind._

Greg chuckles. “Brat…”

_[19:04] Worst son ever._

_Mycroft [19:04] My name is not Sherlock._

Greg laughs at that and groans at the same time, the thought of Greg dating Sherlock popping into his head unbidden.

“Is that your Mycroft?”

Greg looks up in surprise to see both his parents looking at him. Crap.

“I…”

Greg’s mum reaches across the table and grabs Greg’s mobile out of his hands before he can properly react to her new found form of 'conversation.'

“Mum, stop.”

“Hmm…” She slides her finger down the screen.

“Mum, privacy invasion.”

She glances up from the screen and tsks. “Oh dear, there is no need to be rude.”

Greg tries to snatch the phone back but his mother slides her chair away from the table. “Mum, you are meddling and I am fifty now, not –” 

“Oh come now, Greg, age means nothing with one’s children.”

“Not true.”

“Grace, it is his mobile.”

She glances at Greg’s father and smiles slowly. “Quite right.”

She clicks the screen then puts the mobile up to her ear. 

Greg frowns, half leaning over the table with his hand out. “Mum, please.” She just smiles and the mobile rings. “Are you a teenager? Can I have my mobile?”

“No, you may not.”

Then Greg hears a voice faintly over the phone and his mother smiles. “No, actually, this _is_ his mother.”

Greg curls his hand on the table into a fist then relaxes it again. He sits up and slides his empty plate to the side.

“Well, we have been talking about you in fact though Greg here seems to be trying to talk me around the table instead of just showing me your picture on his mobile,” Greg’s mother says.

Greg shakes his head. “That is not what’s happening.”

“Just let her go,” Greg’s father says as he spears his last bite of chicken.

Greg sighs and rubs his fingers over his eyes. “I hate you.”

Greg’s mother chuckles. “Then we will have to meet you instead.”

Greg drops his hand and raises his eyebrows. His mother starts to smile more. She glances at Greg and the lines around her eyes crease.

“I don’t think time is the point, is it?”

Greg frowns at her and really wishes he could hear both sides of the conversation.

His mother chuckles. “Oh my, that sounds like an excuse. I think I should like to meet your mother as well. I am sure we could compare notes.”

Greg definitely hears Mycroft say, ‘notes,’ indignantly.

“Though would be better to meet you first I believe.”

Greg looks at his father. He only wipes his mouth with his napkin then drops it onto his plate. He looks back at Greg then shrugs. 

“Oh my, that sounds like you were attempting a guilt trip! Have a sister that taught you, did you?”

“Wait, what?” Greg holds out his hand. “Can you just give it to me?”

Greg’s mother holds up a hand and ignores him. “I am sure that would be an interesting philosophical discussion but I think you are trying to distract me from my point.”

“She sounds like Claire…” Greg mutters.

“Claire sounds like her, more like,” Greg’s dad counters.

“Well then?” Greg’s mother says using her ‘discipline time’ tone. Then she smiles. “Yes. Good. Very good.” Greg’s mother taps her fingers on the table. “Of course.” Then she pulls the mobile away from her ear and holds it out to Greg.

Greg frowns and slowly takes the phone from her, putting it up to his own ear. “Mycroft?”

“You mother reminds me greatly of David.”

“He is her son.”

“And it appears your mother has convinced me of the benefit of my meeting her and your father.”

Greg glances at his mother who is grinning at him. “Yeah, gathered that.” Greg shrugs and looks away, lowering his voice. “We did talk about it at Christmas.”

“We talked about how we had not met each other’s parents, not plans to do so.”

Greg laughs quietly. “Splitting hairs?”

“You can take my parents to the theater then.”

“Let’s leave the date on all this meeting open, yeah?”

Mycroft chuckles. “Please.”

Greg smiles at the word. “Please?”

“In all earnestness, please.”

Greg chuckles quietly. “Call you later when I’m free.”

Greg mother raises one eyebrow at him.

“Good bye, Greg,” Mycroft says and Greg clicks the phone off.

He puts his mobile back safe in his trouser pocket. He then puts his hands on the table and threads his fingers together. He glances back and forth between his parents. “We need to discuss boundaries.”

They both begin to laugh.

–––––––––

“Right, so Banks and Cooper are looking into those two.” Greg hands two case files to Donovan sitting on the other side of his desk. “Matthews is working with Avery on the body from Peckham.”

Donovan frowns. “That a good idea what with –”

“The inquiry is long gone and neither of them are holding any kind of grudge.”

“You sure?”

Greg gives her a look. “Positive.”

Donovan holds up her hands but does not press the matter. Greg hands her the case file with a post it note on the front. He picks up a case file which he knows belongs to Donovan and hands her that one as well. 

“This one looks like Bell and Brooks.” He flips it open for a moment. Couple murdered inside their flat; looked like a stabbing but not your standard knife. “Still running down suspects on that one.” He puts the file to the side and finally gets to the thickest file with hardly anything in it; the Moriarty file.

“So?” Donovan asks.

Technically everyone is tasked to spend time on the Moriarty issue if they can; review the old cases with his involvement, review the court case, look into any old leads or leads on the video, run down any more technical aspects they can glean from the seemingly bare message.

“We need to scale it back.”

Donovan raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

Greg shrugs. “Everything has been dead ends. More departments than ours are checking up on it. We can’t waste any spare minutes on it when there are solvable cases which could use those minutes.”

Donovan frowns. “We can’t just let it go. He’s the one who –”

“I know, Sally,” Greg cuts her off. “But we are just hitting walls.”

“Sir?”

The two of them turn to see Brooks in the door way. She holds up some papers. “Review of the jury members from the Moriarty trial. A few did report about the threats they received and almost all are asking questions about the new appearance. Are they safe, all that.”

Greg sighs. “Right, of course. Don’t suppose we have any of the video threats any of them got?”

Brooks shakes her head. “Not a one.”

Greg turns and looks at Donovan. She clears her throat and nods. Greg turns back to Brooks and holds out his hand. “Thank you, Brooks.”

She hands him the file. “About any of their questions?”

Greg grimaces. “Give them the line from the PR department and, no, we’re not offering them protection. Their court case is done and our proof is near nonexistent.”

“Going to be a fun day,” Brooks says as she backs out of the door.

“Make some coffee,” Donovan calls after her.

“And some tea,” Brooks calls back to her as she walks down the hall.

Donovan turns back to Greg. “I hate that bloody video. Such a crock of shit. If I found out Sherlock did it or something…”

“Sally.”

“You’re right,” she grumbles. “I just… I don’t believe it. There is no way.”

“Stranger things have happened, yeah?”

Donovan nods. “I’ll give these case files out.”

“Thanks.” Greg taps the Moriarty case. “You and I are still on this. Everyone else can shelve it. I’ll send around a memo but you can tell others if you like.”

Donovan sighs. “Oh, great.” Then she turns and walks out of his office.

Greg rubs a hand over his forehead, massaging in a circle. Sometimes he wonders what the point of the motion is. It never eases any headache he has. Greg drops his hand then picks up his mobile from beside his laptop. He clicks in and dials Sherlock.

“What is it this time?” Sherlock says after the third ring.

Greg rolls his eyes. “Calling about your Moriarty.”

“Something new?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

He hears Sherlock sigh. “No. Good bye.”

“Sherlock, wait!”

Amazingly, Sherlock does not hang up. “Yes?”

“Sherlock, we could use your help here, all right? We are hitting dead ends left and right on this one.”

“As to be expected.”

Greg picks up a pen and squeezes it tightly in his hand. “Right, yeah, but you’re just as good as him, Sherlock. You’ve got to have something!”

“If the message were in fact from Moriarty himself, which I highly doubt, anything which would come of it would be unlikely to involve your department until it was all completed.” Sherlock knocks something in the background and Greg hopes it is not Sherlock any body parts again. “So you needn’t worry about it, Lestrade. Leave such complicated matters to the professionals.”

“I am the professionals, Sherlock!”

“As you use the term.”

Greg sighs and clicks the end of the pen down on his desk, open, closed, open, closed. “Sherlock, you’re not helping.”

“Whatever the intentions of that video, they will become known and I will be there when it happens.”

“Sherlock, there has to be a way to prepare, the risk –”

“Is not your concern.”

“You sure about that?” Greg snaps and he means something else entirely than work.

Sherlock says nothing for a few seconds then Greg hears glass clink in the background. “Should there be a pertinent threat I become aware of, Lestrade, I will inform you with due diligence.” Then he hangs up.

Greg pulls the mobile away from his ear and stares at for a moment. Then he puts his mobile back down on his desk. In terms of Sherlock, that might be the closest he will ever come to ‘cooperation.’

–––––––––

Greg and Claire stand on one side of the table, Kate and John on the other. John hunches slightly holding his paddle in some sort of play stance. Beside him, Kate holds the table tennis ball in her hand ready to serve.

“Shouldn’t we have a referee?” Claire says.

“Are you planning on cheating?” David calls from the table in the corner

Greg grins and glances at David while Kate and John both chuckles. Claire only shakes her head. “Count off then, John, and no early starts.”

“Of course, mum.”

“Should one of us count?” Greg hears Colin say.

“Don’t get involved, safer that way,” Jane answers him.

Greg considers a retort but then John says ‘one, go’ and Claire hits the ball down on to the table.

Claire makes a surprised noise and hits the ball back hard so it flies over the net and smacks straight into Kate’s chest.

“Mum!” she cries. 

“Bit rough, that,” Greg says with only a touch of guilt.

“I think that still counts,” Claire says, tapping her paddle in her hand. “All quite fair.”

“You’re not supposed to hit me!” Kate insists, gesturing to the ball rolling across the room toward the door that leads back into the hall and on to the living room of Claire's house.

“No worries, mum, we’ll give you the handicap of a first point,” John says instead.

“Oooo,” David, Colin and Jane heckle.

This time Greg turns and gives all three of them a glare. “No audience interaction!”

David snorts. “You ruin all the fun, Greg; must be that copper training!”

Greg waves a hand at them then turns back around just in time for John to return to the table with the ball in hand. He holds it up then hits it down without counting off. Greg jumps back but makes the return hit over the net.

“Trying your talking tricks again?”

“You were the one talking to Uncle David,” Kate counters as she hits the ball back.

“For all I know you paid them off.” Greg hits the ball.

“With all the money I’ve got, right.” Kate hits back.

Greg chuckles as Claire hits the ball this time, just catching it on the edge of her paddle. It soars far past the end of the table but John hits it in the air, sending it back toward Greg. Greg taps it lightly over the net in an attempt to throw them off. However, Kate is ready for him and knocks the ball back, just catching the edge of table so it is still legal but nowhere near enough for Greg to return.

Greg frowns as the ball bounces away. “Bugger.”

Kate laughs and claps her hand against her paddle. “Fail!”

John laughs and taps his paddle against hers. Then Kate does a victory dance of a sort as she chases after the ball which rolled in their direction.

Greg and Claire look at each other. Claire sighs. “My children are charming.”

“Just like their mum.”

“Or their uncle.”

“Yes, David can be an arse.”

Claire grins and mock punches Greg in the shoulder. “Look who’s so clever.”

“Must be the company I’m keeping.”

Claire smiles. “Hmm, maybe.” Greg raises his eyebrows at her. She shifts her lips from side to side, pursed and comically contemplative. Then she smiles again, smaller and more real than before. She clicks her tongue and nods. “Oddly good company despite it all.”

Greg smiles slowly. Then John and Kate clear their throats. Claire and Greg turn to them.

“We playing, mum?” Kate asks holding up the table tennis ball.

Claire smiles. “Would do to break the tie, yes?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who said we should play.” Kate mocks her mother’s voice. “’Activity is good for you, you never play with the table tennis, why did we buy it if not to use it?’”

John laughs as do Colin and David in the far corner, clinking their beers together. Claire turns and points at the two men behind her. “At your own peril you laugh!”

“Uh oh!” Jane quips and Colin abruptly stops laughing.

David waves a finger at her. “You don’t scare me, little sister.”

“Not so little,” Greg counters.

“Did you just call Claire fat?” David cries with a gasp at the end.

Greg and Claire sigh at the same time. Across from them, John and Kate groan together and say, “Can we play?”

“It still freaks me out when they do that,” Greg mutters.

Claire snorts then says to the twins. “Your serve then.”

John holds up the ball then serves it across into Greg’s court. Greg returns to Kate’s side straight across from him. She returns and she and Greg go back and forth a few times amiably. Then Kate hits the ball hard so it bounces over to Claire. She knocks it back toward John, nearly missing the side of the table. John dives for it and somehow hits it back to their side. It flies right in between Greg and Claire. Claire makes a go for it so she knocks into Greg also moving to return. Greg stumbles to the side but Claire gets caught around her own feet and abruptly falls hard. 

Kate gasps high. “Mum!”

Claire groans on the floor and rubs her lower back. “I’m fine.”

“Jeeze, mum, watch the feet,” John says.

Claire glares up in John’s direction, though the table mostly blocks any line of sight. Greg leans over and holds out his hand to her. “It was a graceful fall.”

Claire grabs his hand and he pulls her up. She shakes her head, brushing a hand over her rear. She chuckles once and gives Greg a look. “The most graceful, I’m sure.”

Behind Greg, Kate clears her throat. “Goal.” Greg and Claire both glare at her. Kate shrugs and points at the ball near the wall. “You falling doesn’t disqualify it.”

“I hate my children,” Claire says to Greg.

Greg smiles. “Only a little?”

“Did I say ‘little’?”

Greg huffs quietly and smiles. He peers around at Claire’s arse then looks at her again. Greg clears his throat carefully and does not laugh. “Going to need new trousers.”

“What?” Claire cranes her head around trying to see the new rip in the back of her trousers. “Fuck, I love these!”

“Dad, mum said fuck!” John looks at Colin and points at Claire.

“Good for her,” Colin says as he gestures at Claire and her ruined trousers.

Claire bites her lip then turns and walks toward the hall. “Time out!”

Colin stands up from the corner table and follows Claire, David and Jane whispering something to each other with smiles a bit too big.

As her parents leave the room, Kate walks around the table to stand next to Greg with her arms crossed. “This game is going nowhere fast.”

Greg looks at her. “Can always just hit it back and forth if you like, free for all?”

Katie glances at him. “You looking to be crushed?”

Greg laughs. “Big talk.”

“Can I ask you a question, Uncle Greg?” Kate says softer.

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend, is he… is he family now?” Greg looks at her and she looks down at the floor, rubbing her shoe into the unyielding wood. “I mean, he came to Christmas. You’d dated him before and now you are again.” She looks up once more. “My mate Gloria says if you go in for the second time that means something.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Something?”

“Something good.”

Greg sees John around the other side of the table watching their conversation, quiet and listening. Greg clears his throat. “This Gloria have a lot of relationship experience to draw on, does she?”

“Well, she’s eighteen.”

“I see.”

Kate cocks her head and shrugs. “So?”

Greg purses his lips. “Well, we’re not married.”

“He has to marry you to be family?” John asks with genuine confusion as he walks over to their side of the table.

Greg and Kate turn to John. Kate snorts and shakes her head. Greg smiles and swings his arms once. “No, you’re right, John. Doesn’t have to be.”

“Unless you’re planning to?”

Greg jerks his head around to the side. “Kate!”

She giggles. “Dunno, could make for a party, right?”

Greg sighs. “You’re turning out a lot like your mum.”

Kate smiles as she puts her paddle down on the table. “Thank you.”

Kate flips her hair – it is so long now it is half way down her back and the fringe she had throughout childhood is gone – then loops her arm through her brother's and pulls him toward the door to the hall. They turn perfectly in sync to the right down the hall and out of eyeshot. Greg turns around and looks at David and Jane in the corner. Jane shrugs and drinks some of David’s beer. David smiles at her then stands up and walks over to Greg still standing beside the table tennis table.

“Did our niece just ask you if you’re going to marry Mycroft?”

Greg frowns. “No.”

David grins widely. “Aw, you’re adorable.”

Greg tosses his paddle down on the table. “Sometimes I wonder why I visit all of you.”

David tsks. “And miss all the rousing table tennis debacles?”

Greg huffs. “You’re driving me to smoke again.”

“So good you and Claire are on the quitting track! But I am still keeping the record at…” David mock checks his watch. “How many years is it now?”

Greg frowns. “I need to find somewhere new to hang out.”

“But you get free beer when you visit.”

Greg purses his lips and crosses his arms. “You make a compelling argument, Lestrade.”

“Usually do, Lestrade.”

“Oh god,” Jane groans.

The men turn and look at her. She stands up, picking up David’s beer. She leans over then picks up another unopened one from the sidebar. She walks over, hands David his beer then gives the other to Greg.

“You two be brotherly or something. We’re having dinner in thirty minutes, all right?” She points at the hall. “Colin is very prompt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” David replies and kisses her.

She smiles then walks out the door and down the hall. David glances at Greg as he takes a drink of his beer. Greg frowns down at his beer then looks at David again. David sighs then roots around in his trouser pockets. He pulls out his keys, flips them around in his hand until he gets the bottle opener between his thumb and forefinger. Then he holds them out to Greg.

Greg smiles and takes them. “Cheers.” Greg pops the top off his beer – the cap flying somewhere toward the window – then hands the keys and opener back to David.

“What would you do without me?”

“Go to the kitchen and get an opener.”

David snorts and drinks his beer again. Greg clicks his bottle against David then takes a big gulp. He is not a huge fan of the brand but whatever.

“Everything all right on your end, what with Mycroft and that video and all? Seemed like a bit of an uproar before the new year, yeah?” David asks.

Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “It is a big load of shite and I’d rather not talk about it.”

David chuckles. “Oh, no problem. I was being polite.”

Greg laughs and drops his hand. “Best brother.”

“I know.”

They stand for a moment in silence then David cocks his head. "So it seems Kate has some ideas about –” 

Greg groans before David can finish his sentence. "Isn't the marriage pressure supposed to stop after a certain age... and divorce?"

David laughs. "There's no pressure, Greg. We're just glad to see you happy, really happy, not just being all work and no gay."

Greg laughs despite himself and drinks some of his beer. "All right. I got it."

"Though if you switch around and find yourself a lady instead I am still on board, as long as she makes you happy, despite no amusing rhyme."

Greg smirks. "Doing all right where I am so you can enjoy your rhyme."

David gives Greg a thumbs up. "What I like to hear." He smiles and swirls the liquid in his bottle around. "I'm glad you're happy, Greg."

"I feel like you've been telling me that a lot lately."

David gives Greg a look. "I have a soft spot for my siblings and you are my only brother."

"You're my only brother too."

"Uh oh, we're getting sentimental." David makes a put upon face. "I blame you."

Greg shrugs as he tips his beer up again. "I guess I'm the sweet one."

“By the way.” Greg glances to David as he turns toward him. David smiles. “I’m going to wear a bow tie this time when you get married to Mycroft.”

Greg half chokes mid drink of his beer. “David!”

David just laughs.

–––––––––

Greg climbs the stairs from the second floor up to the smaller third floor of Mycroft’s house. The sun shines through a window behind him making him think of warmth even though the house is chill. Greg wants to pull the cuffs of his sweater down more but he has a cup of tea in each hand right now. He reaches the landing of the third floor and turns to the left, past the storage closet – more like a room really with the size of it – and into the next room. This room is filled into every corner with sun. The only shadow is Mycroft at his easel to the right beside the large double windows, floor to ceiling. Greg watches Mycroft for a moment, small table with two trays of paint and a glass of murky water beside him nearer the windows than the door where Greg stands. His sleeves are rolled up, no suit jacket or waistcoat or tie and while that might seem out of character for Mycroft, Greg knows there is no way Mycroft would risk getting paint on any of his suits. The old white shirt he wears may still button up the front more formally than some artists would likely prefer but it is Mycroft after all. 

“Hi,” Greg says. Mycroft’s eyes shift away from his canvas to Greg in the door way. Greg holds up the cups slightly. “I brought you tea.”

Mycroft smiles. He glances around him then points toward the table against the wall with a few paint boxes stacked and some paint brushes in a cup. “There should be a small folding table over there, I believe.”

Greg walks over, puts the cups down on the large table then looks underneath it. There is indeed what looks like a TV tray leaning horizontally against the wall under the table. Greg pulls it out, picks up one cup of tea then walks back over to Mycroft. Mycroft puts down his paint brush on the lip of the easel and holds out his hand for the cup. Greg hands him the cup then opens the small table beside Mycroft. Mycroft puts the cup down on the table. 

Greg gestures with his head toward the easel, angled away from him so he cannot see the front. “What are you painting?”

Mycroft looks back to the canvas and raises his eyebrows. “A poor imitation for memory, I think.”

Greg frowns. “What?”

Mycroft looks at Greg again and smiles. “It has been a long time to recall as many details as I should wish.”

Greg tilts his head then steps around behind Mycroft so he can see the canvas. The painting is only half done, background greens and yellows already applied but pencil lines over that for tree details, a building in front of it all and what is distinctly a gravel road leading up to it. The building isn’t a building exactly; it is a house of stone, details in pencil, some painted in, but completely familiar.

“It’s Italy,” Greg says. “It’s our house in Italy.” 

Mycroft chuckles quietly. “We do not own it.”

“You know what I meant.”

“And I know how enjoyable it would be should I own a house in Italy.”

Greg laughs this time. “And leave dear old England? I think I remember you being against that idea.”

“Certainly not permanently.”

Greg gazes at the painting. He feels for a moment as if he smells the sunflowers and jasmine, hears Mycroft talking about Florence, sees the blue and white tiles in the enormous kitchen. “I love it,” Greg whispers.

Mycroft huffs. “It is not done yet.”

Greg looks down at him. “I know.”

Mycroft looks up at him with a frown of confusion but Greg only smiles back. He touches the back of Mycroft’s neck and kisses his forehead. Then he steps away back to the other table and picks up his own cup of tea. He blows across the top then takes a sip. Mycroft watches him for a moment. He glances down at his tea them back to Greg. Greg raises both eyebrows. Mycroft makes a ‘hmm’ noise then picks up his paint brush again. 

As Mycroft turns back to the canvas, Greg crosses the room and sits down in one of the pair of worn arm chairs against the opposite wall. The position turns Mycroft into a picture, windows and sunlight behind him with Mycroft in profile at his canvas. It looks like an antique illustrated cover of The Strand or The New Yorker – old aristocracy with their classic pleasures and poise. Greg grins and sips his tea again, crossing his legs and leaning back into the cushions. He wraps both hands around the cup, fingers over lapping, and watches Mycroft as he picks up a different paint brush and makes short strokes with a pale green. Depending upon how Mycroft moves – leans forward, sits back, turns to the side, sits up straighter – the sun blocks his face into shadow or reveals it with a surprise of color. Greg thinks he could sit here and watch Mycroft all day.

“Are you planning to watch me all day?” Mycroft echoes Greg’s thoughts.

“I might.”

Mycroft glances at Greg. “Surely there are more productive ways to spend your Saturday off?”

“Does it bother you if I watch?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll not be ‘productive.’”

Mycroft’s lips form into a small smile as he twists one paint brush around in the glass of water. He taps the brush on the edge of the glass to remove excess water. Then he chooses another color from one palette. He glances at Greg again with his brush just above the canvas. Greg smiles, tea cup in front of his lips, and Mycroft smiles back at him.

Mycroft turns back to his canvas, brush moving carefully and Greg rests his tea cup on his thigh. He thinks, this could be every day.

–––––––––

Greg walks over Westminster Bridge closer to the North side. He came out on a call over on the south side, reports of someone with a gun, shots possibly fired and maybe even a body. Everything turned out to be very unsubstantiated by the time they arrived and interviewed about five people who were fuzzy on their facts; not to mention they found no body or signs of any gun shots. To be honest, despite the cold, Greg was glad to get out of the office for a bit even on a hoax. Sometimes he thinks he spends a bit too much time behind his desk. After the wrap up, Donovan and Bradford elected to take the car back to the office but Greg decided to walk.

"Don't want to be a fat copper?" Bradford joked as Donovan practically shoved him into the car.

Now, Greg attempts to weave through brave tourists and belligerent Londoners on his way back to the Met. He'll probably stop for coffee or tea on the way. The cold has already seeped into his bones as it is want to do. Still, it is good to be moving about.

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade?"

Greg halts suddenly just beside a lamp post on the bridge as a woman – dark black hair, some Indian decent in her background and a good deal shorter than he is – stops in front of him saying his name. 

Greg frowns slightly and cocks his head. "Yes?"

"Of the Metropolitan Police?"

Greg nods. "That would be me. Do I know you?"

"No." She shakes her head just slightly. "We do have a mutual friend." She presses her lips together then clicks her tongue. "A few in fact."

Greg raises an eyebrow. "That right?" He waits for her to elaborate but she merely watches him steadily. "And you are?" Greg finally asks to fill the space.

"Sebeena Moran." She holds out her hand which Greg shakes – her grip is tighter than he expected. "And I am pleased to meet you in person."

"Right." Greg drops his hand again. "So... are you –"

"It is a funny thing, this bridge," Ms. Moran says suddenly and Greg's mouth clicks closed. "They call it Westminster Bridge, don't they?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I always found that odd." She holds up her hand as if to point behind her. "Yes, the abbey is there but Parliament, our dear Big Ben, is the corner stone of the scenery." She drops her hand down again. "I suppose that Westminster Abbey has been there longer but we do love to rename and rebrand in this day and age."

"Ms. Moran, did you want –"

"I wonder what it would turn into if someone should come around and rename it, turn it into Parliament Bridge which does seem more apt?" She makes a face which is probably supposed to show amusement but seems vaguely threatening instead. "That would be an interesting contest to present to the public." She shrugs just slightly. "But then again, that might mean the masses get the final say. Bad idea. My friend would say that all people are boring and they'd probably pick something like 'Government Bridge' or try to name it 'London Bridge' as if that's not taken already."

"Your friend?"

"He was fond of games." She smiles. "He was very good at them, though you were never a real player, were you, just a piece."

"I don't know what you mean."

She laughs once low. "No, you wouldn't. But it is not a piece I care about. It is a player, two players in fact."

Greg narrows his eyes. "Who’s that?"

"The only two left playing." She tilts her head. "That they know of at least."

"Ms. Moran, would you care to stop talking in riddles and ask me what you want because I'm not standing on this bridge in the cold all day?"

Ms. Moran purses her lips just slightly and Greg cannot help but notice how still she stands, how imposing she seems for someone who only comes up to his chin. Then she laughs once. "No, you're right. Forgive me; it must be all the time I spent with him. The riddles do rub off." She steps just a bit closer to Greg and the space is no longer normal. "You don't play games and neither do I. Perhaps we can thank army training for that in my case?"

"You were in the army?"

"Odd to be trained by the army if I wasn't in it?"

Greg clicks his teeth together and does not rise to the bait. "Well, what do you want then? I'm ready to walk around you."

She chuckles as if that is the most ridiculous thing he could have said. "Oh certainly, D.I. Lestrade, you could."

"Then I will because you're obviously not getting to a point." Greg moves and steps to the side but suddenly she catches him by the crook of his arm.

"How many people do you think end up in the Thames every year and never come out again?"

Greg stares at her. "What?"

"That river has a history the rest of this city never knows, a muddy bottom holding secrets we never hear and maybe never should."

"Are you threat –"

"Why would I do that?" She lets go of his arm. "It would certainly not be safe to threaten an officer of the law." She laughs but it is not with humor. "Certainly a silly choice to make. But..." Her eyes tick to the railing beside them and the water below. "I would wonder just how many people would notice someone falling into that river right now." She makes a derisive noise. "What with all their cameras and mobiles busy pointed at parliament or The Eye, posting as quick as they can to their Facebook pages."

Greg takes another step around her, personal space regained. "Who are you? What do you want?"

She reaches into her pocket and Greg stiffens without exactly knowing why as she does so. When she pulls her hand out again, it holds a black business card. "I want to give you this." She holds it out between two fingers.

Greg stares for a moment then takes the card without looking at it, keeps his eyes on her. "All right. Is that it, Ms. Moran?"

She smiles slowly. "Call me Sabeena and yes, that's it." She puts her hand back into her pocket. "For now."

Then she turns on a heel and walks back toward the south bank over the bridge. Greg watches her until he can no longer see her past the cars and people. Greg taps the edge of the card against his other hand and chews the inside of his mouth. He cannot decide if she was crazy or not. He taps the card on his palm again then finally looks down at it. One side says, Sabeena Moran – Consultant, on it. He flips the card over and sees the white outline of a skull.

Suddenly someone grabs Greg's shoulder and spins him around. Greg nearly lashes out with a fist but stops just as quickly. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft breathes fast, staring at him with surprise and worry. "Greg!"

Greg frowns. "What?" He looks over Mycroft's shoulder then out to the side. "What is it?" He frowns. "What are you doing here?"

Mycroft grips Greg's shoulders tightly, looks over Greg's shoulder then back to Greg's face. "I... are you..." He looks down at Greg's hands and the business card between them. He suddenly snatches it out of Greg's hands.

"What..."

Mycroft stares at the card in his one hand, the other still holding fast to Greg's shoulder. He blinks, licks the edge of his lip and flips the card back and forth twice.

"Mycroft, what's going on?"

Mycroft looks around the card at Greg then abruptly puts the card in his jacket pocket. He puts his hand back on Greg's shoulder and breathes out slowly. Then his face changes – somehow calm and certain and focused – and his breath begins to even out.

“Are you okay, Mycroft?” Greg reaches out and touches Mycroft’s face. “You look –”

“I am fine.” Mycroft suddenly grins, so wide and so happy Greg has no idea what to say. “I am perfectly fine, Greg. You are fine and so am I.”

“Mycroft, you sound a bit mad…”

Mycroft pulls Greg close and kisses him on the lips right in the middle of the sidewalk. “I am perfect, Greg.”

"Something just happened, didn't it?" Greg tries to look over his shoulder. "Was it that..." But Mycroft touches Greg's face to turn him back.

"It is fine, Greg. It will all be fine. You are right here and so am I and everything is fine." He kisses Greg once more – hot and almost desperate. "Believe me."

Then Mycroft pulls back and turns them around to walk over the bridge toward Parliament. He does not let go of Greg's arm.

–––––––––

A week later Mycroft calls Greg at work at three–fifteen.

“Greg, my dear.”

Greg frowns and stares up at the windows of his office, half expecting to see Mycroft standing there. “Hi, Mycroft. Everything okay? You just called me dear.”

“Perfectly fine, Greg, I simply wanted to tell you…”

Greg waits as Mycroft pauses, silence stretching on. Greg frowns and cocks his head to the side as if it will help him hear better. Finally he shrugs even though Mycroft cannot see him. “What, Mycroft?”

“I wanted to tell you, Moriarty's men, his… well, what was left of his organization… it will no longer be a problem.”

“What?”

“I am afraid I cannot tell you more than that, Greg, but believe me, it is well taken care of.”

Though he always believed it – the mysterious changing offices, the lack of title, the phone calls, the government at his back and all those dark cars that could appear at any time – this time when Mycroft speaks Greg feels for just a moment as if he can see the full expanse of Mycroft’s power hiding in the shadows.

“Good,” Greg says quietly.

“Good bye, Greg, I will see you later.”

Greg hangs up the phone, limp in his hand. He knows he will never know exactly what happened – what Mycroft may have done – and this time, this one time, he is glad he does not know.

–––––––––

Greg sits at the end of a number of small tables pushed together to make one long table in a corner of a pub not terribly far from the Met. Greg leans back against the wall, pint glass in one hand and the other rubbing a circle on his temple as his coppers have three different conversations in front of him. At the far end of the table, Donovan is debating bank robbing methods with Avery and Cooper sitting on the booth side across from her.

“The computer system is the entry point,” Cooper insists. “Security is always the first issue and if the system can be breached –”

“But that is what everyone thinks of,” Donovan counters. “That is why the systems are so increasingly complex and protected.”

“Every system can be hacked, look at the Walters brothers!”

Avery leans forward and speaks louder. “But the low tech option –”

“I’m not saying low tech,” Donovan says waving her hand. “I am saying why break in at all? The entry point should be finding a way to have the bankers let you walk right in.”

Cooper scoffs. “Oh come on, this is not a heist movie with the guy in the suit posing as someone else while confederates are positioned around roofs.”

“Which is why the good old guns and ‘get down on the floor’ actually produces better results if you can get out fast,” Avery insists.

“Straight bollocks,” Cooper snaps, taking a big drink of her ale, then points at Donovan. “And you’re off your rocker.”

“Hacking doesn’t last forever, there are counter measures.”

“Which can also be hacked!”

Next down the line of the table, Banks and Bradford on one side with Bell and Matthews on the other keep going back and forth about crime scene procedure which is almost enough to make Greg get up and leave.

“Protecting the integrity of the scene –”

“No one is debating that, Manchester.” Banks taps his glass on the table. “The point is how do you preserve integrity in the elements? How often is it raining and when you –”

“Come on, we’re past that, everyone has an umbrella.” Bell waves her pint glass hand. “It’s the crime scene photographers that always get me. You want to protect the scene then photograph it but –”

“While comprising evidence?” Matthews scoffs. “What good is the picture then?”

“SOCO are the most important link. Without them all we’ve got is constables mucking about –”

“Hey!” Banks and Bradford cry together at Bell.

“First year constables, feel better?”

“I do,” Banks says while Bradford rolls his eyes. “And no one says that the SOCO are anything less than essential.”

“I could do their job,” Matthews mutters.

“Oh, shut it,” Banks says at the same time Bradford groans, “give over, Manchester.”

“I'm not a city!” Matthews snaps making Bell snort and laugh.

Though Greg wants to tape all their mouths shut for talking about work when they are supposed to be enjoying the pub but Greg likes hearing Bell laugh again. Lastly, and right next to him, is a conversation about… to be honest, Greg is not one hundred percent sure what the whole point of the conversation is.

Peters shrugs. “I’m just saying, chocolate is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You’re mad.” Brooks nudges Gupta. “Dark or no?”

“Oh, always dark chocolate.”

Parker makes a derisive noise. Gupta shoots him a look. “What, milk chocolate for you?”

“White chocolate.”

Brooks and Gupta gasp. 

“Heathen!” Gupta holds her glass up in front of her face. “I cannot look upon you.”

“It’s just chocolate!” Peters says with a groan. “Can we talk about peanut butter instead? That I can go on about.”

“Clark, what have they done to you in organized crime?” Gupta knocks her glass onto the table. “Should have never let you go.” She turns to Greg. “What is wrong with you?”

Greg starts slightly at being pulled into the conversation he was mostly staying out of. “What?”

“They’ve turned him into a peanut butter loving whore!”

“Who said whore?” Peter cries indignantly, his voice pitching higher.

“You let him be taken by…” Gupta whispers. “Organized crime.”

“I hope the mob pays better,” Brooks says into her glass.

Parker laughs again and eats some nuts from the bowl in the middle of the table. 

Peters frowns at Brooks and cocks his head at Gupta. “Chocolate is not worth it. I’ll have pie instead thanks.”

“They make chocolate pie.”

Greg crosses his arms, pint glass resting on his arm. “Why are you lot talking about pie?”

“We’re talking about chocolate,” Gupta corrects, holding up one finger.

Brooks and Peters sigh heavily, though Brooks just ends up laughing. Parker makes a face and glances down the table at the other two conversations. Then he points. “Are they talking about bank robberies and crime scene officers?”

“Are they?” Brooks says, turning to look.

Gupta frowns. “Together?” 

“Yes,” Greg answers Parker.

“Why would they do that?” Gupta asks.

“Not together,” Greg says to her.

“Then who are they talking to?” Peters asks.

Greg bites the edge of his lip and narrows his eyes at them. “You’re all doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

Gupta smiles slowly while Brooks gives Gupta an incredulous look. Parker just shakes his head. Peters beside him has a nostalgic look on his face. Greg humphs, drinks some of his beer then puts the glass down on the table. He taps it twice significantly making most of the table turn to look at him.

“But that system was broken when –”

“Cooper!” Bell snaps.

“What!” She turns her head in annoyance to Bell beside her. Bell points at Greg. Cooper looks around, notices the rest of the table quiet then smiles sheepishly. “Oh, right, yeah.” She clears her throat. “Listening.”

“Thanks.” Greg smiles and waves a hand absently. “Just real quick, know it’s just a good night out for everyone but wanted to give a proper welcome and thanks for being part of the department to Parker.” Greg picks up his beer and holds it up toward Parker. “Noah, happy to have you with us and glad to have you as a permanent member of homicide.”

Banks and Bradford snicker behind their hands. Matthews shoots them a glare.

Greg smiles and holds his glass up a little higher so everyone else around the long table holds up their glass or bottle as well. “Welcome Sergeant Noah Parker, we know you’ll do well.” Greg clears his throat. "As you already have been."

“Here, here,” Brooks, Bell, and Avery say.

“Cheers,” Matthews says and everyone assents, clinking glasses around the table.

Parker smiles, looks only a touch embarrassed and says ‘thank you’ to every person who clinks his glass. He taps his glass with Greg’s glass and looks more appreciative than Greg would have expected. If he thinks about it, Greg supposes their team can be somewhat difficult to break into. They are more like a tight knit family.

“Miss us?” Gupta says to Peters.

Peters shrugs. “Parker can fill the hole I left.”

Gupta snorts. “Long time coming, yeah?”

“And not a replacement,” Greg gives Peters a look, “of course.”

Peters smiles. “Of course.”

“Notice you didn’t answer me,” Gupta says then grins. “You do miss us.”

“Oh, leave him alone, Parni,” Brooks shushes and waves a hand. “Organized crime made him a sergeant! Why should he miss us?”

“Do I have to call you Sergeant Peters now?” Donovan asks from down the table.

“Yes!” Peters calls back.

“Not doing it,” Banks and Bradford say together.

Avery laughs and has to put down his glass to keep from spilling. Peter leans over the table and gives them the finger.

“Sergeants don’t behave like that,” Donovan chides.

Matthews raises his eyebrows at Donovan. “Really?”

Donovan’s mouth drops open as Bell and Avery both cry ‘ooohhhh.’ 

Greg sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “And this is Scotland Yard.”

Peters and Gupta look at him, both cracking a smile. 

Brooks grins and holds up her glass to Greg. “You love us and wouldn’t want any others.”

Greg laughs once and glances around the table; Matthew is wagging his finger at Donovan while she waves a hand at him. Banks and Bradford sit shoulder to shoulder laughing into their glasses. Cooper whispers in Bell’s ear and gestures at the table at large. At the end of the table, Avery pulls out his mobile, looking like to record Donovan and Matthews’ blossoming row. Parker says something across the table, under the fight, to Bell and Avery which makes them both grin. Then Greg looks back at Brooks and Gupta who are staring back at him. 

Greg smiles. “No, I wouldn't; you’re all the best coppers I could have.”

–––––––––

“I still can’t believe we know when your birthday is now!” Claire crows, almost bouncing around Mycroft – not that Claire bounces, of course.

“I could be lying,” Mycroft mutters.

“You’re not,” David and Claire say together.

Mycroft only sighs. Greg shakes his head and pours more wine into Mycroft’s glass. “Here, drink the problems away.”

“Isn’t that our job?” David says pointing between himself and Claire.

“You get a day off,” Greg says as he walks with the wine bottle back into the kitchen. He emerges again a moment later with a glass of ale in his hand. “Plus, I think with three Lestrades, Mycroft deserves point on that.”

David snorts and Claire grins slowly as she walks aimlessly around the living room. She looks at Mycroft on the couch and shrugs. “Oh, I think he can handle it.”

Mycroft raises one eyebrow at her. She mimics him until he scowls.

“You done?” Greg asks. Mycroft and Claire turn to Greg with rather different expressions that somehow both say ‘yes.’ “Right… Everyone done with cake?” Greg gestures to the plates on the table beside David.

David turns to look behind him at the cake that is left. He bites the edge of his lip, shakes his head from side to side in contemplation then looks at Greg. “Done.”

“Please, remove it before I have more,” Mycroft mutters.

“I think you’re allowed,” Claire says.

“I’d rather not.”

“Don’t start,” Greg says as he picks up the dirty plates.

“I can be on a diet if I choose,” Mycroft counters.

“You don’t need to be.”

Mycroft shakes his head and sips some of his wine. Greg purses his lips then turns and walks toward the kitchen. He puts all the plates and forks into the sink, runs the water over them for a moment then shuts it off again. He turns around to see David waiting with the remains of the cake in his hands. He grins like a ten year old who is so very good at helping. 

Greg snorts and takes the plate from David. “Thanks.”

Greg puts the plate on the counter then pulls out the cake box top from a cabinet and puts it over the whole thing. 

David cocks his head and nods. “Great idea that invention.”

“Wasn’t mine.” Greg shrugs. “Probably Mycroft’s.”

David chuckles and turns with Greg as they walk out of the kitchen again. In the living room Claire waits with some wrapped presents in her hands. Mycroft looks vaguely uncomfortable.

“Present time!” Claire says brightly.

“I am turning forty–nine, not four,” Mycroft says tetchily.

“Never too old for presents, Mycroft,” she counters.

“Wasn’t it recently that you still did not care for me?”

Claire shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I miss it.”

Greg tries not to smile while David outright laughs. David walks back over and sits in the chair beside Claire. He pulls one present out of the four in her pile. “Well, you can’t claim they’re all from you, Claire.”

“I never said they were.”

David takes two more from her and holds them out for Greg. Greg takes the presents then sits beside Mycroft on the couch. He hands one to Mycroft. “This is your tacky present.”

“Joy.” Mycroft rips the paper quickly and find a pair of black socks with Big Ben and the flag on them. He raises one eyebrow and looks at Greg again. “Thank you.”

Greg grins stupidly. “You’re welcome.”

“Ew,” Claire says quietly. Then she leans forward and holds out her present so Mycroft can reach it. “Mine is a lot less sickening.”

Mycroft takes the present form her. “I should hope.”

Mycroft unwraps the present with less disdain and abandon than he did with Greg’s, likely because the present is shaped very much like a book. He puts the wrapping aside and turns over the book. It is a hardback copy of _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ by John le Carré. Mycroft smiles and looks up at Claire again. “Thank you. You may be surprised to know I have not read it.”

Claire fists her hand and makes a ‘score’ motion. David rolls his eyes.

“Well?” Greg says pointing at David’s present.

David shakes his head. “Uh uh, mine goes last.”

“Why?”

“Oh you’ll see when he opens it.”

Greg and Mycroft glance at each other quickly. Then Greg hands his other present over to Mycroft. Mycroft turns it over twice in his hands then looks at Greg sharply.

“Really?”

“You only have the one and I’m pretty sure you use it just for work.” 

“Only for non–classified or immediate action items.”

“And all those identity covers to make us think you’re _not_ a master spy or something without a name working in the government?”

Mycroft sighs. “As you say.”

“I thought this could be a personal one, what with you in the back of cars all the time.” He waves a hand at the still unwrapped present. “Plus, it’s small enough to fit in your inside coat pocket. I checked.”

Mycroft purses his lips but it is combined with a smile. “Thank you.”

“What is it?” Claire says with exasperation. “Unwrap it!”

“I think I know,” David says tapping one finger on his lips. 

Mycroft rips the wrapping paper revealing a box with a Samsung tablet image on the front. David and Claire say ‘oh’ at the same time with dawning comprehension. Mycroft puts the box down on the coffee table and folds the wrapping paper into a square beside it. He smiles at Greg again, touches Greg’s hair briefly then looks at David.

“You’re all going to kicking yourself you didn’t pick something as amazing as this.” David holds up the present for display then hands it to Mycroft.

Mycroft clears his throat and eyes the present warily. He holds it for a moment then gives David an odd look. David smiles and leans back in his chair. Mycroft pulls at the wrapping paper at the tapped seams the puts it on the arm of the couch. In his hands is a black picture frame with a photo inside. Greg leans over and sees it is a photo of him, younger, twenty or so when his hair was dark and curly and he dressed like he probably owned a motorcycle. In this photo he stands with his hands in his pockets – just blue sky and grass behind him and Greg cannot pinpoint when or where it was taken – wearing tight jeans and a similarly tight white cotton long sleeved shirt. In the photo he looks at someone just to the right of the camera as he leans forward slightly, laughing. Greg huffs but smiles despite himself. Mycroft looks up at David and looks uncharacteristically surprised.

David smiles slowly. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Greg looks at David. “Where’d you find that? Back corner of a closet at mum and dad’s?”

“I cannot reveal my secrets.”

“So yes?” Claire answers.

“Thank you,” Mycroft says and his voice makes all three of them turn. Mycroft smiles, wide and pleased. “Thank you very much. It is perfect.”

Greg bites the edge of his lip and is pretty sure he does not blush. David makes a whooping noise and points at Claire. She sighs and waves a hand at him. He laughs haughtily back. The two of them begin to make faces at each other, very reminiscent of nineteen seventy–five in the Lestrade house.

Beside him, Mycroft looks down at the photo again then up at Greg. “I never did imagine you with curly hair in your youth.”

Greg taps the edge of the frame. “Guess you won’t need to imagine now.”

Mycroft reaches over, runs his hand through Greg’s hair and just smiles.

–––––––––

Greg checks the time on the oven, less than ten minutes until the pot pie is done. Greg turns on the light in the oven and crouches down to take a look. It has been a while since he has made a pot pie and the crust can sometimes be tricky.

“I am sure it will be fine, Greg.”

Greg looks over his shoulder at Mycroft who is looking at his arse. “What, and spoil your view?”

Mycroft’s eyes shift up just enough and he smirks. “Well…”

Greg stands up and shuts off the oven light. He pulls out a trivet from a drawer and sticks it on the counter next to the stove in preparation.

“Come on,” Mycroft says as he steps out of the kitchen doorway. “Mustn’t stand in here and hover.”

“Watched pot?”

“It is an oven.”

Greg gives him a look but follows Mycroft out of the kitchen and back into his living room. Mycroft sits down on Greg’s couch and picks up the copy of _Dr. No_ sitting on the coffee table. 

He holds it up to Greg. “You cannot still be reading this?”

“Well, I shelved it for a while. I think I was angry at the guy that gave it to me.” Mycroft presses his lips together tightly as Greg sits down. Greg kisses him hard so Mycroft relaxes again. He leans back and smiles. “But I think I got over that and, yeah, did finally finish it.”

“Only took you a few years.”

Greg laughs. “To be fair, I did already know the ending.”

“The film not a far deviation?”

“Nope.” Greg takes the book out of Mycroft’s hand. “Did finish it though. Felt like I should.” He turns back to Mycroft. “It being a gift and all.”

“A long time ago.”

“Years.”

Mycroft smiles a little. “I should buy you more books. I am realizing now I haven’t since that one.”

Greg shrugs. “Don’t have much time for reading.”

Mycroft huffs. “It is only because one does not attempt to make time.”

“Well, I work for the police.” He tilts his head. “And says the man who runs the government. Sure you have all the time for reading.”

“I do not run the government, Greg.” Greg gives him a look which Mycroft pretends to ignore. “And, I will have you know, which I believe you already should, I make time for reading on a regular basis.”

“Does the newspaper count?”

“One must be up to date on current events.”

“Because no one gives you reports on all of it before it’s in the newspaper, yeah? Anthea must be slacking.”

“She would be amused to hear you say such.”

Greg laughs and kisses Mycroft next to his eye. Mycroft turns his head and kisses Greg on the lips, soft and with a hand tracing Greg’s jaw. Greg breathes in Mycroft then leans back.

“Got something for you, might amuse you instead of Anthea.”

Mycroft just raises his eyebrows. Greg stands up and walks back into his bed room. He pulls a box off the shelf from his wardrobe, tape gone now leaving layers of paper ripped away from the cardboard. He opens the box and pulls out the one object remaining in it. Greg drops the box on his bed then walks back into the living room. He sits down beside Mycroft and hands him the tie.

“Ah.” 

“Bet you'd forgotten about this one,” Greg says. 

“No, I knew where it was.” 

Greg frowns. “Really?” 

Mycroft tilts his head. “Well, at the time I thought it trite to squabble over a tie.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Mycroft purses his lips and looks away. “There may have been sentiment involved as well.” 

Greg smiles. “Something of yours still with me?” 

Mycroft clears his throat quietly. “Yes.” Then he looks back to Greg.

“Well, I can hang on to it, if you’d like. You really don’t leave enough clothes here, you know.”

Mycroft opens his mouth then closes it again. He gives Greg a strange look then he nods. “Why not? It is always beneficial to have an extra tie in reserve.”

Greg laughs. “That is just something you would say.”

Mycroft frowns. “Would you not agree?”

“Well, I don’t wear ties quite as often as you do so I can do without.”

“Shame.” Mycroft runs his fingertips along Greg’s neck. “I recall a rather fine tie pin I gave you that sees little use.”

“Pouting about it?”

Mycroft pulls his hand back and humphs. “Certainly not. You are permitted formal wear, even if I must purchase it all for you.”

“Well, you have better taste I think.”

“Likely.”

Greg chuckles. “Prat.”

Mycroft frowns but Greg kisses him again to stop him. Mycroft sighs but Greg kisses him once more until Mycroft smiles and gives in.

“And you throw disparaging names at me.”

“Oh?” Greg kisses Mycroft again, slides his hand under Mycroft’s suit jacket. “Something you’d like to call me?”

“Distracting,” Mycroft says as he kisses Greg back.

“From what?” Greg pulls at the knot of Mycroft’s tie. “You’re not doing anything.”

“I did not say,” Mycroft slides his hand around Greg’s neck, pulling him closer. “It was I…” He slides a hand up Greg’s thigh, “who was being distracted.”

“Oh?” Greg kisses down Mycroft’s jaw and to his neck. “I’m distracting myself?”

Mycroft slides his one hand down Greg’s inner thigh and scratches his nails against the skin of Greg’s neck. “I do hope no one else is here.”

“Me too.” Greg moves back up to Mycroft’s lips, tongue and presses harder. “Good thing I’m not busy.” Greg leans up into Mycroft’s hand so he gasps.

“Well…” Mycroft strokes his hand up and down the front of Greg’s trousers slowly. “You were recently…” Mycroft makes a quiet, choked off noise when Greg bites his neck, “finishing dinner.”

Greg stops and notices the smell of burning. “Shite.” Mycroft chuckles and unbuttons Greg’s trousers. Greg yanks Mycroft’s tie off abruptly so Mycroft starts slightly in surprise. “I should get that, shouldn’t I?”

Mycroft pulls at Greg’s zipper. “I suppose.”

Greg groans. “Now who’s distracting?”

Mycroft smiles as he slides his hand into Greg’s trousers. “I have always been a quick study.”

Greg breathes in deeply and forces himself to stand up before he cannot, giving Mycroft a very frustrated look. Mycroft only grins triumphantly as Greg stumbles toward the kitchen. Greg hears the timer beeping now, angry and insistent. Greg grabs a pair of oven mitts, opens the oven and pulls out the pot pie. He sticks it onto the waiting trivet, not quite so burned as it could be but certainly in the oven several minutes longer than Greg would have liked. 

“I hate you,” Greg mutters toward the oven.

“Hardly your oven’s fault,” Mycroft says as his hands settle on Greg’s hips from behind him.

“More like yours.”

“One should not point fingers, Greg. Certainly when they are over fifty.”

Greg turns around in Mycroft’s hands. “You’ve got a year left and then you can join me.”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “I have no fear or internalized dismay at the approach of fifty. It is merely another year.”

“Uh huh.”

Mycroft frowns. “Believe as you will.”

“I’ll throw you another party.”

Mycroft sighs so Greg kisses him. Mycroft tries to keep his huff up but Greg wraps his arms around him. Greg touches the back of Mycroft’s neck, kisses him again, then kisses his nose so Mycroft starts laughing. Greg holds him tighter, knocks them back against the counter so Greg hears the dish slide. Mycroft kisses him and his hands move and Greg says softly, “I love you.”

Mycroft stops moving and leans back just enough that Greg can see his face. Mycroft stares for a beat until he smiles wide and surprised and confused and elated and possibly like he might cry.

"Mycroft?"

"Greg..."

Greg smiles back. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“I just told you I love you, Mycroft, not that the world’s about to end.”

“I…” Mycroft laughs once in a quiet, unusually shy way. “I know …” He smiles again. “I love you too.”

Greg kisses Mycroft and feels like he has flown years back, back when Mycroft first sent him a card, when they first had dinner, when they first kissed, first had sex, first went to parties together, gave presents, met family, stood in the rain, then did it all again and Greg wants every bit repeated, an endless happy loop. He kisses Mycroft, smiles, holds him close and it is just like before, like every first time, like when they were first happy, because they are happy right now.  
–––––––––

Greg rushes into Mycroft’s house using the key he sometimes still cannot believe he has. He shuts the door behind him, throwing off his coat and suit jacket before heading toward the stairs.

“Greg?”

Greg stops at the foot of the stairs to see Mycroft exiting the kitchen down the hall. “Hi, sorry.” He waves a hand down at his stained shirt. “Spilled about a full cup of coffee on myself. Thought I could grab a new shirt.”

“You do have some here.”

“Sorry, need to hurry, supposedly running a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Mycroft pulls his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and raises his eyebrows. “Indeed, you should hurry.”

Greg flashes another smile at Mycroft then bounds up the stairs. He discards his stained shirt as he walks into Mycroft’s bedroom, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He pulls a clean white shirt off a hanger in the one side of wardrobe and pulls it over his shoulders. He looks up into the mirror on the one door of the wardrobe as he buttons.

“Much better, Lestrade.” He tucks the shirt in quickly and rubs his hands down the front. “Not a total mess.”

Greg smiles at his reflection then heads out of the room and back downstairs. Mycroft waits for him at the bottom of the stairs beside the railing.

“Hi.” Greg points at the shirt. “All clean again.”

“Perfect.”

Greg kisses Mycroft quickly then moves past him to retrieve his suit jacket and coat. He picks up the suit jacket and pulls it on, turning around toward Mycroft again as he does.

“Greg,” Mycroft starts. Greg looks up at him as he fixes his shirt collar. “You usually wake up at seven each morning.”

“Yeah.”

“Would it bother you terribly to wake up at six?”

Greg frowns. “I don’t know, might depend on when I go to bed. Do seem to need less sleep the older I get. Isn’t that when you wake up?”

“Yes. And would you be interested in more regularly observing proper tea time?” 

Greg laughs as he buttons his suit jacket. “What, like in the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Could be trouble with my job, you know. The nine to five does mostly keep me from nine to whenever I’m able to get off. Minus when we get lunch, of course.”

“Hmm. Still, you might enjoy it on occasion.”

Greg picks up his coat. “Sure. I get coffee with you sometimes why not tea time too?”

Mycroft smiles. “Do you prefer one pillow or two? I notice you tend to change.”

“Sometimes my neck hurts and sometimes it doesn’t. You can move pillows.”

“Point.” Mycroft takes a step forward. “Your couch, are you particularly fond of it?”

Greg huffs. “Uh… I don’t know; it’s just a couch.”

“Ah, good. And kitchen wise, I would think you prefer mine if only due to size and the amount of amenities. My stove is quite good.”

Greg puts his coat down again then puts his hands on his hips. “Yes, I like your kitchen fine. Mycroft, why are you asking me all this?”

“I have something I would wish to ask you.”

“I think you just asked me plenty.”

Mycroft gives him a look then takes another step forward, close enough to touch Greg now. “I wished to ask you… I wanted to know if…” Mycroft clears his throat and readjusts his smile. “Greg, would you be interested in living with me?”

Greg’s smile shifts. “What?”

“Would you be interested in moving in with me,” Mycroft holds out an arm to the side to indicate his house, “here?”

Greg’s mouth drops open slightly and he stares at Mycroft.

“Greg?”

“I…”

“You needn’t decide now if you wish to think about it. I simply wanted to ask. I thought…” He tilts his head slightly. “I thought it could be time.”

Greg looks past Mycroft – down the hall, at the walls, into the kitchen, the stairs beside him, the living room behind him, the bedroom upstairs, the second sitting room with the fine glass tumblers and fireplace, both bathrooms, the attic with its sun and paint – and he breathes out slowly. “Me move in here?”

“Yes.”

Greg purses his lips. “Can I get rid of that weird suit of armor you’ve got upstairs?”

Mycroft huffs quietly but he is smiling. “Yes.”

“Can I bring my TV?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let David and Claire visit?”

“Yes.”

“Will you watch football with me every now and then?”

“Yes,” Mycroft laughs, “if you wish, yes.” He grips one of Greg’s hands. “Greg, will you move in with me?”

Greg grins and looks away at the wall, at the stairs behind Mycroft and he cannot help remembering Mycroft lying beneath him on those stairs.

Then Mycroft says, “Please?”

Greg turns back and squeezes Mycroft’s hand in his. “Yes. I’d love to, Mycroft.”

“Yes?”

“Might make it a bit less formal around here.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “I do not mind.”

“Then all right.” Greg grins as Mycroft pulls him closer. “Yes, I’ll live with you." He breathes out quietly. "As long as you want me.”

Mycroft kisses Greg happily, fingers sliding into Greg’s hair. “I do, please.”

Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft – imagines every day together in this house, in their house – and kisses Mycroft back. “Yes, definitely, yes, please.”


End file.
